'Retribution', Segment II

Macau (two years past)

“David, there’s someone knocking on the door. David?”

There comes no reply. Marcia Clark rises from the stool of the small cosmetic table, putting aside her makeup. She strolls to the livingroom area of the vast luxury suite of the Macau hotel. No husband David. He must have gone to the lobby for newspapers. Marcia assures her robe is righted, nothing flashing, and goes to the hotel room door, the knocks turning to fervent pounding. She peers through the peephole. It is a uniformed policeman. Feeling safe, she opens.

“Ms. Marcia Clark?” an Asian man in plain clothes flashes a badge, the uniformed officer stepping aside.

“Yes.”

“Macau police. You need to come with us. We have questions.”

“Well... ah... you need to talk to my husband. He’s not here.”

“We need to talk to you. Come along.”

“But... but... I’m not dressed.”

“Get dressed. Be quick.”

There is urgency. There is stress. The police! Bad enough back in the States. But while on vacation in a foreign country!

Marcia leaves the door upon and turns to the bedroom. More stress... the man follows.

“I’ll need privacy.”

“You’ll need to be escorted.”

“My husband is a very powerful man. He’ll not be taking this lightly.”

He is... powerful... and he’s not at all taking this or anything to do with his wife Marcia lightly.

“The impertinence!” Marcia huffs doffing her robe, incorrectly assuming the plain clothes policeman would look away. He does not. He ogles. Marcia dresses quickly.

Back to the livingroom for her purse, Marcia spies an envelope propped on top, addressed with her name. She grabs as the officer takes her by the elbow.

“What’s this about?” a demand more than a question.

“Passing counterfeit currency. A very serious charge in Macau. The casinos have very strongly lobbied the government.”

“But my husband gave me all the money!”

The officer smiles evilly.

“Perhaps he will appear on your behalf. Perhaps he will wait and later visit you in prison.”

David did neither.

*****

The note.

      Dear Marcia,

If you’re reading this, you’re most likely under arrest. Sorry I could not be there. Gloating is not my thing. But revenge is. Since the Portuguese ceded control of Macau a few years ago, the island is subject to Chinese law and jurisdiction. I suspect you’ll be relegated to the mainland... Guangdong Penitentiary. It’s a warm climate there. Enjoy your stay. Do hope you’ll be getting some sun. I’ll try to stay in contact by way of the American consulate. And will also arrange some BCC for you.

David

Marcia reads, tears flowing as she awaits in court for a hearing. The shock of the notation... BCC... diminishes the distress of being arrested. Despite her head spinning, mind addled, husband David’s note brings clarity to her plight. BCC... big black cock. She used the term in what she thought were private communications with an old college friend... close... so close that they frequently... and explicitly... exchanged stories of their sexual exploits. 

Marcia has been unfaithful. But it was discreet, she tells herself... both dalliances. With a surgeon... an erudite man of color... details of the relationship offered in confidence to her friend... her paramour whimsically described in the email as having ‘big black cock’. Her exuberant advisement... ‘try it’.

Obviously David learned and is not being whimsical about it, she realizes. A large wad of bills, apparently counterfeit, handed to her to splurge in the hotel casino. His absence at the time of her arrest... both telling.  

'Retribution', Segment I

A short story. Not sure where it will go.

Female Dominant/female submissive.

I hope the use of Chinese terms brings flavor more than distracts.

Enjoy

CB

*****

Retribution

Copyright 2023

by Chris Bellows

New York (the present)

I see on my camera the woman disrobing. I smile in noting the simplicity. Knowing to present herself completely naked, she wears only a lengthy coat and flats, quickly casting aside to denude herself. I’d like to delay and let her simmer in her nakedness, but there is a client waiting. He has arrived early.

So discourteous, yet such eagerness.

Thus I go to the inner front door of my penthouse, unlocking to greet the woman in the foyer. I stand in the doorway, arms akimbo in silence assuming the regal pose she expects. My drab gray pullover dress, my prison uniform, will project my authority.  

“Good afternoon, shou ren zunjking kuxing zhe,” her greeting most humble.

She is Caucasian, but has learned some Chinese after two years of incarceration. She addresses me as torturer... revered torturer.

“You are on time. That shows obedience, qiufan.”

Though I know her real name... know everything there is to know about her... I call her qiufan... prisoner.

I say no more, gazing at her body in silence, enhancing her sense of exposure. She blushes... delightfully... despite having spent two years under my tutelage without a shred of covering. Being revered has that effect.

“Thank you shou ren zunjking kuxing zhe.” 

“But you are to present yourself to me nude,” my hand going to my head to gesture.

The woman takes the hint, reaching and slipping away a wig of raven hair. She has been completely defoliated... bald... rules of incarceration in Chinese prisons. For most the hair grows back. Her benefactor decided otherwise. So there is nothing... head, face, under the arms, legs, pubes. The follicles have been chemically decimated... forever. Such wonderfully enhances the sense of vulnerability... as intended.

“Have you been in New York long, shou ren zunjking kuxing zhe?”

“No talk. My client is here. You are to present yourself to him.”

“He wants his yinjing sucked?”

“Of course. He is a man. But silence. You are to be tortured first. In New York a man can get a blow job anywhere.”

The reader will note, though of Chinese ancestry, my English is fluent. I spent many years teaching Chinese to the English speaking children of diplomats in Beijing. Such learning works both ways. 

“Come,” I gesture for her to step forth.

I suppress a smile seeing my qiufan lift her arms, hands going to the back of her head. Mentally she is immersing herself back into the penitentiary in Guangdong where she was incarcerated.

We enter my penthouse. She follows me to a large spare bedroom which I have converted. In entering I hear her gasp.

“Yes, brings back memories. You did not think you would totally escape your kuxing zhe, did you? Your benefactor arranged for me to contact you.”

Yes the room is well equipped. A torture chamber... a Chinese prison torture chamber. As opposed to what most would envision, there are no standard implements of pain... no whips, canes, paddles, metal shackles. Just rope, cords and innocuous appearing wooden objects... smooth and well polished. No splinters. And nothing that would leave marks or open the skin. The Chinese rely on time in bringing suffering. It is to be slow... with no damage... other than to the mind. Marks and bruises can foster infection... deterring more torture. And thus the reason for hair removal... anti septicism is important... and hair can be septic. We want healthy prisoners... able to withstand hour after hour of pain.  

Sitting in a large comfortable chair in a dark corner is my client. He shall go nameless, but a middle aged man presumably of great financial resources. I don’t torture cheaply. On the floor beside, sitting on haunches with head humbly bowed is the man’s companion. Collared, a leash hangs, the end loosely held in the man’s hand. Young, hair short for a girl, long for a boy, the gender is obfuscated. In my profession one questions not a client’s sexual preferences. But I have it on authority that the birth gender of the companion was male and during a trip to Mexico the testicles were surgically excised. Wealth has its privileges. 

Being a man, and most likely a misogynist, I know he wants to ogle the prospective victim. I thus lead to the chair and step aside. My qiufan knows to go to her toes, standing before him, feet apart, thighs well spread... in mandated silence.

“She has nice shape. Might be pretty given hair,” my client observes, bringing further embarrassment.

“Removed. In her case permanently.”

“Including the eyebrows?” noting the bizarre thin stripes of liner painted above the eyes. 

“Of course.”

While my client calmly gazes, I am sure his arousal slowly building despite my qiufan’s quirky appearance, I step away to where I have a bucket of cold water and rags in wait. I reach, return and hastily wipe away the make up.

“Naked means no covering. Nothing!” I admonish knowing the now more alien appearance brings distress.

“May I suck your penis sir?” my qiufan humbly inquires by rote.

“No,” I answer for him. “Not now. It is the fubu muban this afternoon. And silence... until you begin singing for the man.”

In the Guangdong prison to ‘sing’ is to emit vocal utterances in response to the continuous application of pain.         

My qiufan begins to tremble, I am sure thoughts of being tethered to the fubu muban... the belly board... stirring memories. Haunting? Horrid? No, not after we bonded. It then became her offering to me... something deep within that she wanted to do for me... sacrificing her soul, her pride, her dignity... for my pleasure. But in my penthouse the presence of an observer... a male observer... very much heightens the stress. In Guangdong Penitentiary our exchanges of power were private.

She is going to perform for me... as she has so often... but will now sing for another pair of ears... another pair of eyes watching her ignominious surrender.        

Putting aside the leash, the man unseats himself. What man can resist? Though my rules are that touching is only between the torturer and the prisoner, he cannot help himself, reaching to examine the breasts. I allow it. He has paid handsomely. And obedience ingrained, my qiufan remains in place, hands obsequiously to the back of her head, while the man palms the pendulous glands, thumbs working the nipples.

“What happened here? Marks.”

“The warden had certain exuberance concerning Caucasian breasts. Such were spiked. As you can see, the flesh heals... and in time the marks will fade.”

“Spiked?”

“Vertically pierced with shards of iron. Through the meatus of the gland. She was suspended.”

“By her tits?”

“Yes, though not fully. But bearing enough weight such that the warden became greatly respected,” a euphemism for thoroughly breaking a girl.

“She smells... like pussy,” so ungentlemanly to note.

“She’s aroused. Her masochism was awakened in Guangdong... and is now easily inflamed. Perhaps my qiufen would like to smile for the gentleman.”

My words are not suggestions, not after two years of close and strict supervision. My qiufan knows what a Guangdong prison ‘smile’ is. Her hands lower, fingers going to her pubes, pinching the outer labia and tugging firmly to part her nether lips and obscenely display the pink of her inner labia and vagina. It is a humiliating pose and my qiufan knows to hold it until permission is given the cease. She begins to further blush, the room air filling with her scent.   

I want to add that her benefactor most likely prohibits standard feminine hygiene, thus the strong odor. But such would lead to more unnecessary explanation. My client wants to see the woman tortured... and that’s what I do... and that’s what my qiufan needs. 

The man snickers and returns to his seat taking up the leash. No sign of sympathy, I must suppose trying to veil his arousal in imagining my qiufan ‘smiling’ for the warden or strung up for hours by her breasts in the warden’s office, struggling on her toes, nipples forced to point to the ceiling. 

“Marks are unusual in Chinese prisons,” I add. “This prisoner was deemed to be exceptional.”

And she was exceptional, her breasts spiked only with the consent of her benefactor.   

Yes, her benefactor... a husband cuckcolded by my qiufan. He remains extracting retribution.

'Chained & Protected,' Sole Segment published on the blog

This is a sequel to 'Chained'.

The Story

Josephine Collier finishes her breakfast, eggs benedict. The cooking skills of her house girl seem to improve with each meal. Hours of instructional videos and an ingrained desire to please have brought enthusiasm to the task. 

“Very good, Jamie.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“You look pretty this morning... and you have not yet done your hair and makeup.”

Jamie blushes with the compliment. Not finding words, hands go the hem of his dress left and right, fanning out to the sides, legs bending. The head lowers and there comes a dip, a perfect curtsy in response. Josephine smiles in hearing his long chain rattle on the tiling of the kitchen floor. Her house girl with a penis is so nicely conditioned to serve and please.

“I’m taking Rex to the vet, this morning.”

“But it’s snowing, Miss Josie. There may be trouble,” Jamie genuinely worried about she who is adored... both providing and protecting.

“This is Maine, Jamie. You can expect snow weekly. And flurries come and come. I cannot wait until Springtime. Rex needs to be checked over... and at a minimum have his teeth cleaned.” 

Miss Josie rises from the table.

“Eat your breakfast. Lots of butter. You know I want you soft and plump. I’m going to shower. And you’re to look pretty, Jamie... even though I’ll be gone for most of the day. It’s important.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I must act like a girl... think like a girl... look like a girl.”

Miss Josie nods and smiles... wonting to add to the mantra... ‘be fucked like a girl’. But that’s no longer a matter for discussion. Jamie will bend and spread for her anywhere, any time. That aspect of the months of brainwashing no longer need to be edified. Penetration is not only acceptable but desired.

Arms extend, left hand and right go to the bare chest, fingers tweaking the nipples. Jamie girlishly giggles, finding sensitivity normally deprived the male gender. He has come to covet his Master’s touch.   

“Hair and makeup,” releasing her sensuous grasp and turning away. “And there’s much laundry to keep you busy.”

There is. Snow storm expected, the previous day the owner of the Collier Preserve spent many hours in work clothes, assuring the supply of firewood was adequate and accessible, moving much to the back porch where even a blizzard would not inhibit access to a supply of heat. As always, Jamie slight of physique, denied any exercise, fattened over the many weeks of captivity, looked on in envy as owner Josephine Collier labored as would a brawny lumberjack, her strength and stamina imposing.

Later, baring herself of her sweat laden clothes, Jamie went to his knees. Ostensibly to gather the soiled garb he bowed his head and licked her perspiration. Ankles, calves, thighs... hands denied further oral worship. 

Such devotion... such adoration.

As a good maid, Jamie cleans the table and does the dishes. Then comes his own breakfast, quick and insalubrious. Pancakes... slathered with butter... seemingly floating in syrup.

Miss Josie wants him fattened. He so much wants to oblige. 

Meal completed, Jamie gathers up some slack in his long chain, knowing to guide the links, moving as gracefully as possible in the tight corset and long dress. In walking he feels the sizable anal insertion, his buttocks squishing with abundant lubrication.

Miss Josie wants him to always feel prepared for spontaneous penetration. It humbles. The constant sense of vulnerability tames any remaining male bravado.

Up the stairs, to his bedroom, the makeup table and mirror beckon. After months of training and indoctrination, Miss Josie no longer has to advise him concerning his presentation... he wants to look pretty... wants to be effeminate... wants to please.

A charming lavender dress today, Jamie does his nails to match, pleased to find a shade of lipstick as well. He styles his hair. Long and getting longer, Master Josephine Collier keeps hers short, readily slicked back when doing the rugged work of maintaining a house of size in the seclusion of the Maine forest. Jamie marvels at her many skills, plumbing, carpentry, even rewiring the old house before his capture. 

As he gives his hair a final prink, Miss Josie enters, clothed to venture into a Maine winter, jeans and work boots.

“I’ll be many hours, Jamie. To clean Rex’s teeth he will require anesthesia which means waiting for it to wear before returning. Meanwhile, I’ll do some shopping... pick up the mail. But the snow will make for a slow drive, so I may be most of the day,” Miss Josie strolling to stand behind, hands smoothing over Jamie’s bare shoulders. “Remember, the cell phone is only for contacting the Forest Service... in an emergency. You recall the futility of using it for escape.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m sorry Ma’am.”

“And don’t get any ideas about using the computer. If you were to hack into it... getting by the password... there will be no internet service. The satellite dish is covered in snow. I’ll need to go up on the roof and clear it off after the storm passes. And that’s if I have a need... which I don’t.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And I’ll be checking on your penis when I return,” hand going to her pocket to retrieve a small ultraviolet light. “You don’t want those little titties clamped,” flashing the light to make her point. 

“Oh, no Ma’am.” 

Detection paste applied as always during morning toilet, disobedient fingers will glow, instantly betraying any furtive attempt at masturbation... self pleasure. House girl and sex slave Jamie Hoffstadt is to expunge his male essence... balance his raging hormones... in only one manner... a ruined orgasm while enduring a deep pegging.    

Miss Josie steps to the door, turning with one last advisement.

“There’s plenty of food for your lunch. Do not prepare dinner for me. I don’t know how late I will be. Treat yourself to lots of ice cream. You know how much I like to see your buttocks grow. And leave in place your anal plug... unless of course you want to go to a bigger size... a number eight. I think you’d like that,” Miss Josie chuckling.

Jamie sheepishly smiles with the taunt. He has come to crave the curious sensation of prostate manipulation. And Miss Josie has convinced him it is best for his health.

For the first time since entering captivity in September, Jamie will be left alone, not even loyal dog Rex for company and protection while Miss Josie shopped. He reflects. Three months ago the threat of flight was mitigated by the lack of appropriate clothing, practical footwear for traversing the harsh gravel of the road, and Rex, trained to herd barnyard animals... and wayward captives.

Now there are winter garments waiting to be laundered and available to be commandeered ... along with work boots drying at the fireplace... and no Rex. Should Jamie somehow free himself of the long corset chain making him one with the house, he could reasonably flee. 

Then he glances at himself in the mirror. He is now a girl... acting like a girl... thinking like a girl... looking like a girl. Being pegged like a girl, he ruefully adds... envisioning those in the lesbian instruction video.     

No, putting aside the weather, the risks of flight, including falling into the clutches of Deputy Sheriff Brenda, are too great... his mind concluding the benefits minimal.

Such a charming smile, Jamie beams, peering into the mirror.

Time for this pretty house girl to do laundry.  

'Chained & Protected', New Story

I have published a sequel to 'Chained'.          

'Chained & Protected'.

38,000+ words. $5.43

https://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/chained-protected/ebook/product-m2dq64k.html?q=chained&page=1&pageSize=4

Obviously 'Chained' is best read first.

Look for a snippet next week. There will be only one.

Enjoy,

CB

Chained & Protected

Prologue

Escaped patient/inmate John Luther Bates trundles in the deepening snow. He knows not precisely where he is going, his ultimate destination Canada. Yet, with the road sign suggesting the direction is north, in time he will get to the border. The way is secluded, the tire marks few, indicating so far his choice of thoroughfare wise.

Still, it’s cold and the many miles have brought exhaustion. Is the border near?

Absconding the Maine Institute for the Criminally Insane, he is attired in the stolen clothing of the building’s janitor. Dashing nearly two miles, an empty state maintenance truck, parked at a diner, yielded a thick winter jacket and mittens. From there he guessed his way in the direction least likely to be searched... north into the isolation of Maine’s heavy forests... eschewing the more logical southerly direction leading to cities, suburbs and eventually warmer weather.         

It dawns that he has miscalculated. Food will be needed to sustain his escape... and warmth... the cold slowly permeating the insulation of his purloined winter gear.

He hears a motor. A car approaches, slowly, the road slippery. John Luther Bates, slips into the woods, not to be seen. Within minutes an SUV passes, the woman driver focused on the snowy passage, a dog of size perched in the passenger seat.

Good news, he has not been spotted. Better news, a home or place of lodging is likely nearby. 

Back to the road, he continues. The going is slow. For sure he will need to rest... the snow seeming to be getting heavier. Another half mile... maybe more... the recent tire tracks of the passing SUV veer into a narrow side road, passing through a gate. An aging sign reads ‘Collier Preserve’.

It is a gambit. Certainly the woman must have come from a place of shelter and warmth... women don’t camp in the winter... and the hunting season has passed. Has she left her house empty? For sure it will be warm... certain to have some supply of food.

Wherever the woman is heading it will be a long drive.... slowed by the weather. He will have at least an hour... maybe more.

John Luther Bates convinces himself it is the worth risk. A charge of burglary is meaningless with his multiple convictions of sexual assault. The only drawback... is the house otherwise occupied? He will approach with caution. If there is a husband... a brother, he will need to reconsider. If a child... John Luther Bates will do what his criminal mind commands him to do. Better though... a sister. Yes, his libido is surging, the regimen of medication at the Maine Institute for the Criminally Insane cleverly bypassed.    

'Chained', Segment VI

This is the last posted segment.

See the July 26 post for information concerning purchase.

*****

Shuffle indeed, the chain strung from right ankle to left does not permit a full stride. Hobbled, Jamie departs the kitchen in thought, heart pounding, feeling his face flushed in embarrassment. Out of sight he tugs at his restraints, hands fighting against the short chain connecting his wrists to the waist chain. Instructed not to touch himself, he must try, his erect penis seeking attention, a puppy sitting up and begging for a treat. Jamie thinks of the many times he furtively addressed this condition, sneaking off to his bedroom... perhaps the bathroom... stroking away. What was Aunt Josie’s question in the car... does his penis spit? 

Yes, it spits... and it so much needs to do so now.

What is this all about? This Josephine Collier women describes herself as eccentric. More disparaging terms come to mind. And she and his mother were lovers! Such a shock, learning that upon her demise.

To the livingroom, Jamie is stirred from his thoughts. Told to think about something attached to the banister, for the first time he notes the otherwise unnoteworthy wooden rail leading up the stairs is anchored by a steel post at bottom. And such is set in cement! Jamie ponders. It appears that the entire house structure could burn down and the thick post of some four feet would endure the flames.

But of more significance, attached at the base is a thick chain leading to a neatly curled pile of links. It’s of heavy gauge, the loops much thicker than those constricting his arms and legs. Visually examining, the sight brings a frisson of fear. To whatever the chain is secured... and Jamie has an inkling... there cannot be any resistance... to fight such a binding would be futile. The mass of metal... appearing to be tempered steel... seems to be sending a message... yield... comply... succumb.

Still, Jamie cannot help further examining. He cautiously lowers himself, awkwardly managing to kneel. He is supplicating, he thinks to himself as he shuffles closer, bending at the waist to place his fettered hands on top of the pile, fingers brushing about, rubbing a few of the heavy links.    

“It excites you doesn’t it Jamie?” Josie having quietly followed him from the kitchen. “What do you think I will do with that?”

“I... I... don’t know... Ma’am.”

“Well if you’re going to serve me... and you will serve... you’ll need some degree of movement. More than you have now. Cooking, cleaning, doing my laundry will require using your hands... and less restriction of your feet. The chain is long enough so that you’ll be able to access every room in the house. Even go out to the back porch to feed Rex. But I’d not want you to go further... be tempted to depart. You have until the end of the day to decide whether to accept my governance... and the chain... or head back to Brookline. Here to be indentured... receiving food, shelter and care... or there to be free yet homeless, begging for food and a place to sleep.”

The words bring Jamie to tremble. Yet he cannot bring himself to stop rubbing the thick chain.

Josie steps behind, arm extending, fingers of her right hand toying with his long blond hair.  

“Yes, it’s tempting, Jamie. There’s a bit of your mother in you. And in many ways you will serve me as did she.”

Jamie turns his head, looking into the eyes of... of... his governess?

“I’ve always had fantasies of owning... a person... a slave... a sex slave. I think you’re that person Jamie. But as I’ve suggested... the sex slave in my fantasy is a woman... a girl. You’ll need to make that transition... stay and you will make that transition.”

Josie speaks in a low steady voice. Jamie finds it to be hypnotic, no words of protest or refusal to be found.

“I have ordered... let’s term it jewelry... for you. Be coming in two weeks... maybe less. And something for you to wear. Though it appears exhibiting yourself to me completely naked is less than objectionable,” Josie leaning, a finger grazing over an erection that has not wavered. “In the meantime, you will study... learn to cook... to clean... the way I want it done. And you must learn to look pretty for me. Coif your hair... shape your eye brows... apply makeup.”

Josie shifts, hands slipping under Jamie’s arms. She lifts, demonstrating amazing strength, Jamie finding himself returned to standing with little need for using his leg muscles.

Why does the demonstration of power bring a sense of comfort, being handled like a doll?

Then the hands lower, smoothing over his buttocks then playfully squeezing. Jamie is further embarrassed by the somatic reaction of his penis. His erection waggles, seemingly in gratitude. 

“Cute. Let’s visit the basement. You’ll need help with the stairs. I want to show you where your transition will begin... your physical transition. I’m sure your mother told you I was a surgical nurse.” 

*****

To the basement, Josie leads opening a heavy wooden door. In steeping down she turns, right arm reaching.

“Careful, Jamie. I’d not want you to fall.”

Knowing the hobbling chain allows one cautious step at a time, Josie lends a hand.

“You need to stay balanced.”

There comes another symbol of the woman’s prospective governance. The hand palms Jamie’s newly shorn scrotal sac, then slowly and gently curls in closing about his plums.

Words of protest begin to sputter. Then realization truncates true objection. First the woman is in total control of his well trussed nakedness, physical resistance futile. Second, Jamie is chagrined to find the tender grip of her warm hand mollifies.

Left foot down, followed by the right, the duo slowly lower into a surprisingly well lit chamber.

“The laundry room is over there. You’ll have no trouble using the machines. But of more interest to you, I’m sure, is my little operating area. Installed some expensive equipment. I can do minor surgery.”

Josie seems to enjoy leading a boy about by his balls, hand remaining in place even after the stairs have been negotiated. She leads to an area lit by intense mercury vapor lamps. The floor is tiled as are the walls. Various devices surround an operating table. Jamie is trembling again. She of course can feel it, finally releasing her grip. 

“No need for concern, Jamie. All that will happen to you here will be for the best. That quick body shave last night... well... having to regularly do that will toughen your skin. I want my girl smooth of course... but also soft. And in time you’ll also want to be smooth and soft for me.”

Jamie is horrified to find himself nodding in agreement.

“There will be a minor oral procedure... to excise the frenulum. A quick incision to that useless flap of skin under your tongue will improve your oral capabilities... allowing your tongue to become longer... and stronger.

“Then there’s that annoying foreskin of yours,” Josie going to a cabinet to extract a device of stainless steel. “A Gomco clamp. Adult size. They’re using lasers for circumcision now. Less painful... faster healing. But I think it’s best this way. The message... my message... of power and control will be better received. As I said, some local anesthetic so you don’t pass out... but not so much that you won’t feel a woman’s hand modifying you.”

Jamie begins to visibly shake. Josie smiles. Such frail masculinity, the prospect of losing a little flap of skin bringing convulsions.

“And then there are the locking rings for your corset.”

Josie puts aside the Gomco clamp, picking up and displaying two heavily gauged steel rings, some one inch in diameter.

“Corset?”

“Oh yes. I want you looking girlish for me, Jamie. It’s a stiff garment which will encase your tummy and back. Give you a nice shape... more or less train your torso and shape such that your buttocks protrude for me. You’ll need to move about arching your lower back. The rings will be implanted here... and here,” Josie’s index finger pressing to Jamie’s rib cage left and right. “Locks will assure the corset stays in place. It will become a part of you... except when I bathe you.”       

Wide eyed, Jamie stares as a smiling Josie pinches, gathering a thick tuft of skin some eight inches below his armpit and pressing to it one of the rings.

“Won’t be too hideous. Though not feminine, we can’t have you taking off your corset for no reason, can we?”

Jamie is overwhelmed. The envisioned configuration horrifies. Yet his alternative?

“If you choose to go back to Boston... Brookline... you need to start by mid afternoon... during daylight,” Josie returning the rings to a cabinet. “A skirt, blouse, I’ll even offer a sweater. But the road will be tough on your bare feet. Need help getting back up the stairs?”

A part of Jamie says ‘run’! Get away! Another part oddly welcomes her guidance... beginning with the return of her warm knowing hand about his balls.

“I... ah... guess that would be best, yes.”

“Of course it would. Boys so much like a woman’s attention... there,” nodding to an erection that will not quit... despite the emotional trauma.

“Come,” her hand lowering to once again offer guidance by way of his scrotum.

'Chained', Segment V

Jamie sits in the refurbished kitchen of the surprisingly large house. Built for the manager of the logging company which owned the land some one hundred or more years ago, Josie explained that he had a number of children and since lumber was readily available, size was not a consideration.

“Spent a lot of time and money in refurbishing the place,” Josie explains offering another spoonful of Viagra laced pablum. “Everything modernized, plus added some features... for keeping a girl. You noticed the shower last night.”

“It’s large, Ma’am.”

“Yes, so I can step in and bathe a girl. Hygiene is important when kept.”

“I can feed myself, Ma’am... you know without...” rattling his wrist shackles.

“Yes, you can. But not right now. In good time. Need to get you in the right mind set,” offering another spoonful.

“After breakfast I need to feed Rex... soon to be one of your many tasks. And you can explore the house. Shuffle about as best you can. Then I have something for you to read and study. And then there will be some training.”   

“Will I... you know... have clothing, Ma’am?”

“In time. But for the training I need you nude. I’ll make sure the house is warm in the meantime,” Josie highlighting his nakedness in reaching reach to diddle a nipple.  

With that there comes the sound of barking.

“That’s Rex. He knows it’s feeding time and wants to remind me. A herding dog. Protective... and well trained. Keep in mind, Jamie, should you be naughty and decide to wander off, Rex will encourage you to return. I’ve got some things ordered for you that will preempt that. But Rex is good back up.” 

Josie rises from the table, going to prepare a bowl of dog food.

“Go... Jamie... enjoy your freedom. But don’t leave the house. Your sore feet won’t take you far... and Rex is very vigilant.”

Well bound, Jamie cannot push back his chair, instead turning in his seat and awkwardly managing to rise to his feet. He finds Josie to be correct, last night’s two hundred yard scamper to the house on gravel brought scrapes and much tenderness. He hobbles forth on the tiling, the soft comfort of the living room rug a much sought destination.

At the doorway he turns to gaze at his captor. Josephine Collier as a college cohort is obviously his mother’s age. Dark hair, short and cut to the jaw line, it is apparent in having for the most part rebuilt the house, that she is not only skilled but a woman of determination. And strength, manning hammer, saw, an assortment of other tools. It seems the stack of firewood in the livingroom plus the huge pile outside the front door resulted from hours of wielding an axe and felling trees of substance. In wearing slacks, such are tight, but not effeminately. Such are filled out with muscle, buttocks, thighs and calves well developed... in an athletic manner. 

Taller then him, shoulders broad, Jamie felt the strength of her hands and arms as the woman gruffly sponged down his nakedness, gratefully reigning in her power as she paid particular attention to his male package. Yes reigning such in to the point he again hardened for her.

Such embarrassment.

With the thoughts he looks down at his shorn pubes berating himself. He ceded to her, letting her have her way.

Yet, had he a choice in the matter? So many locks, cuffs and chains.

The woman is not gorgeous. But oddly Jamie senses odd attraction. Is it her strength? She has bested him. And oddly he begins to feel twinges, thinking of the soft soap, the warm chamois, skinning back his foreskin, the inspection and surprisingly gentle cleansing. Yes, thinking about it excites. He blushes anew. It was not wanted. Or was it?

Josie turns from the kitchen counter, bowl of dog food in hand. She notes Jamie’s look. Her eyes lower to his pubes. Well aware that, though it’s only been some two days since he probably last touched himself, the libido of a teenaged boy is rampaging. She smiles, knowing that he is slowly hardening, the Viagra breakfast taking effect.  

“Thinking about touching yourself?” Josie inquires, her comely smile broadening.

“I... I...” embarrassment glowing, Jamie turns to move onward.

“No, no. Let’s finish what’s started,” Josie pleasantly suggests.

Jamie ignores, chains rattling as he begins to step away.

“Stay!” the command forceful. “Turn back.”

Once again, Jamie realizes he has not much choice in the matter. He obeys, berating himself anew in feeling himself further hardening.

Why is this?

“You’re acclimating quite quickly, Jamie,” Josie coos. “Just let it happen. Penis in full blossom for me. It’s a phenomenon that’s becoming more and more understood... to bond with your captor. Now I’m going to feed Rex. Only takes a moment. I want you at full stand by the time I return. Last night I had to lend a finger. This morning? We’ll see.”    

Jamie is aghast. But deep within he knows his erection will soon be fully raging. Her words? Her presence? He is bonding with his captor in physically exhibiting strange attraction.

Why? 

Then he thinks of baring himself last night... to be shackled... sensing twinges. Later, after the ordeal of being run to the house, lying to shame and bewilderment he became fully erect, the trauma notwithstanding, the sole grazing finger bringing a brisance... and an erection of stone.

What is happening to him?

Jamie maintains his place as directed hearing Rex the dog bark in greeting his breakfast. Then with a short gust of cool morning air the door opens. Josie returns.

“Very obedient,” Josie notes.

Indeed, peering downward, Jamie is chagrined to see his penis is rock hard.

“And a nice tribute for me. Go. Shuffle about with that nice stiffie,” Josie repressing a chuckle. “And think about what you’ll find attached to the banister going up the stairs.”  

'Chained' Published

 I have published the referenced story on Lulu.

42,000 words. $5.43

https://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/chained/ebook/product-v657e5.html?q=chained&page=1&pageSize=4

Be sure to give yourself access to explicit material.

The last segment to be published here will be on August 5.

Enjoy.

CB