Saturday, November 27, 2021

'Alexandra Morris', Segment III

To her bedroom, Alexandra turns on the television and disrobes. Onto the screen comes the naked hanging form in the basement stable. The camera system, intended for concerned parents in monitoring sleeping infants, is most suitable for assuring the well bound steed is not in danger. With the signal coming through the internet, she can surreptitiously monitor her possession while working in the office as well. 

With the end of a long day, the bed attracts. Though relatively early, Alexandra must rest. She will have a predawn start to her day. Exercise for her captive steed, securing him to the treadmill for a modest two mile run... comparatively light exercise in that she will be running him extensively about the estate late Saturday morning. Then will come more ablutions and feeding.

Slipping under the bed covers, she thinks of all the exacting care her mother afforded her herd of human beasts. Though argument could be made that their captivity was cruel, they were spared nothing in terms of physical care. And so it continues with Robert. Her words come back to mind concerning his prospects given manumission... nothing to offer the world other than his brute strength and stamina... oral stamina included... a humorous thought... coming to mind the endless cunnilingus the steed has been trained to provide.    

Lights dimmed, the television glows in silence, Alexandra enjoying the cooling smooth sheets tantalizing her nakedness. She had always slept in the buff, a habit ingrained in being brought up on the hedonistic tropical island. Mother insisted, the climate so hospitable, never hot, certainly never cold. And so her nude prepubescent form would roll from her little divan every morning and slip over her head a loose, white cotton shirt, barely long enough to cover her navel... her only covering.    

Such encouragement offered by libertine Mother Morris, running, jumping, skipping about the island of domineering women and subjugated well trussed males with buttocks flashing, her underdeveloped slit bared to all... including those held in bondage.

In maturing, Alexandra began to realize the effect on the bound males held in constant chastity. She learned the term ‘rutting’, mother’s intent and desire to keep her many steeds on the edge sexually. Mother liked them kept ‘frisky’ was the simple explanation given the young daughter. And her cute well rounded cheeks filled many a gawking male eye.

As slumber beckons, her thoughts and the image of her naked captive bring dreams... and of course such are of her childhood on the idyllic island... being licked by subservient males.


“It’s autumn, but there’s still quite a bit of sun. I want to keep you a nice shade of golden brown.”

The words come as the imposing hands of Alexandra Morris complete lathering her steed with sun lotion. In the halogen lights of the basement stable his six foot two frame gleams. She takes pride in her well muscled human equine. And she takes delight in deciding on the shade of brown he will cast. In completing, right hand going to the leash of the testicle clamp, she thinks of her mother’s preference, constantly having her herd put to pasture and sunned.

‘I want them black as coal,’ Mother Morris would exalt, imbuing on daughter Alexandra the notion that the whims of a governing woman are edicts. Training, conditioning, shaping, exercising... and even determining a steed’s coloring.

“Rather cool this morning, Robert. A good morning run to the overlook and by the time we arrive it’ll be quite pleasant. I’ve packed a nice lunch. And if you run well you may have some grapes.”

“Yes, that would be excellent, Ma’am.”

Miss Alex gently tugs, a sightless Robert instantly steps forth to follow, to the light pony cart. 

“Would you like to put on a nice stand for me?”      

The quest comes as Robert cautiously steps between the leading prongs and idly stands as Miss Alex works to make his nakedness one with the sleek two wheeled cart.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Yes, the cool morning air can be exhilarating for a big sensitive penis.”

Tacking human equinse since youth, within moments Robert and the cart are one. The testicle leash is drawn backed and tied off at the front of the cart. A thick leather waist band is buckled in place and secured to the prongs. Bit and bridle are put in place and lastly Miss Alex fondles the male package, the fingers of the left hand diddling the entrapped scrotum and the fingers of the right slipping away the infibulating clasp. She steps back, smiling in calm confidence as the enormous penis swells within the confines of the steel cylinder, the fleshy foreskin retracts and the massive purple glans penis greets her gaze.

“My, my, you do need to be masturbated Robert.”

The bridled head nods enthusiastically, shaking the many buckles and straps and bringing a sinister laugh.

“Perhaps next week,” her words bringing a pout of dejection.

Miss Alex strips away the strip of blinding cloth. She waits, letting the eyes adjust then steps away to enter the code for the overhead door. The door rolls upwards, Miss Alex grabs a crop and mounts.

To the sound of a throaty ‘haw’ and the stroke of the crop, Robert knows to pull... and pull vigorously. Niceties end when a steed is put to harness. Mother Morris was a disciplinarian and there was no laziness in her herd. Such has passed on mother to daughter and a well trained Robert knows to pull, run fully until otherwise directed, and for sure follow the guiding hands of the reins.

Though the way to the scenic overlook is well known, Miss Alex is given to test her steed’s obedience to feminine governance, altering the route. Yes, quick strokes of the crop to bare buttocks bring instant compliance. And there is heady joy in the silent communication. There need to be no words, just commanding pulls on the reins, encouraging strokes of the crop.

The sun brings a nice glow to the golden brown flesh. And as Miss Alex works her steed into a good sweat a moisture of her own begins to flow. Lunch may be greatly delayed she smiles to herself.

Within an hour, a well run steed pulls cart and equestrienne to the highest point of the sizable estate. Perspiration oozes from every pore and Miss Alex notes that indeed, on this cloudless autumn morning, nearly noon, the air has warmed. She looks about, no signs of civilization, no buildings, no houses. And being on a place of elevation, no interlopers to look down at the duo.            

Privacy! Mentally... emotionally she can return to the tropical island paradise of her youth.

Pulling Robert to a halt in a familiar grassy area. Miss Alex dismounts, stepping to the front of her captive. She peers to see he remains partially erect, despite the brisk lengthy run. A hand lowers, the very tip of a feminine finger grazes about the exposed penis tip, hypersensitive in being well tucked away under the infibulating clasp. Steed Robert shivers, the reins and buckles again shaking, the simple and most evanescent touch bringing a frisson of pleasure.... yet so brief.

Bit mandating silence, he cannot beg for more. And to do so would extend the lengthy interval of chastity.

“Going to run off, Robert?” Miss Alex teasingly inquires as she begins freeing her conveyance from the cart.

Robert shakes his head. The temptation of escape is offered regularly, Miss Alex often testing. But both equestrienne and human equine know of the bond, the emotional attachment over the many years. Robert has no other life... can not have any other life. This Miss Alex knows... and she knows that constant bondage brings complacency... an odd surrender of the will.

Waist belt unbuckled, testicle leash untethered, bit and bridle removed, Robert’s arms remain restrained behind his back. There is one temptation never to be permitted... and that is for him to touch his penis. Any stroking, massaging frottaging there is only under feminine dominion.    

“You’ve got me into a lather of my own, Robert. You’ll never understand the thrill of cropping the buttocks of a subjugated male. Though I sense there is enjoyment of your own... judging from your erection.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“So some grapes... for you,” Miss Alex stepping away to lay out a blanket on the grassy clearing.

“May I... well... look, Ma’am.”

“Of course not. You had your last glimpse when I was a girl. Now for you... it’s taste and scent.”

Miss Alex returns, removing the blinding strip of cloth from the pocket of her jodhpurs and reaching up to instantly return her steed to sightlessness.

“Down,” reaching for the testicle leash and guiding the massive form to his knees.

The jodhpurs are quickly removed, the waist band of Velcro designed such that she can bare herself from the waist down in an instant. No panties, nude from the waist down, Miss Alex next doffs her boots, returning herself to the days of gallivanting about her mother’s island paradise, unknowingly rutting the many captive human equines held in strict chastity. She cannot recall when first licked. Was it mother’s suggestion? Perhaps one of the trainers? But licked she was. And such required little encouragement to have the biggest and strongest of steeds offer endless cunnilingus... and more.

“Can you smell me Robert? I get quite frothy in cropping you,” Miss Alex retrieving the picnic basket from the cart.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And that means you’d like to taste me.”      

“Oh yes Ma’am.”

“And some grapes.”

The ritual begins. Miss Alex seats herself on the blanket, spreading her thighs, the fingers of the left hand splaying her labia, the fingers of the right introducing grapes, her vagina to be stuffed, the tongue and lips of the devoted steed... now oral servant... to feast.

Saturday, November 20, 2021

'Alexandra Morris', Segment II

Returning to the stable door, a garden hose offers a quick douche. Watching Robert’s erection instantly shrivel with the cooling spray offers a placating sense of control. The infibulating clasp is returned. Steed Robert hardens only at Miss Alex’s behest.

Into the basement stable, the well subdued human steed meekly follows the guiding gentle tugs of the testicle leash. He docilely stands within the web of cables and straps. Miss Alex, so often handling captive males at Mother Morris’s island paradise, quickly reverses her steed’s emancipation... hood and chest strap first. Once in place Robert knows to lift right leg then left for the thigh straps and to surrender himself for a night of bondage.  

“Good boy,” Miss Alex offers, master to dog, in refilling her wine glass.

She sips then begins the nightly ablutions. As with any equine, Robert is bathed, a soaped chamois smoothing over his golden brown flesh. The deed is soothing for Alexandra, a subtle manner of expressing her ownership... a car buff polishing her rare and exotic automobile. The task could be thought of as menial. And indeed, the minions who report to her in her office would be pleasantly surprised in knowing of her twice daily cleansings... the boss lady more or less scrubbing the hallway floors. But the intimacy is appreciated. As owner she is aware of every inch of flesh... every mark....every blemish. And when it comes time for the complete body shave, there can be no further comeuppance for the virile male then to have his reproductive organs fastidiously brought to glabrousness, fingers palpating and examining as they work.

“You do have nice testicles, Robert. Quite plump. So on Saturday I may masturbate you. Make sure all these potent and well subjugated glands remain working for me.”

“Thank you Miss Alex.”   

Lastly comes the head... and the need to remove the blinding hood.

“Hold your head still and level, Robert,” Miss Alex unhooking the cable holding his cranium steady. “I’ll be quick,” knowing the neck muscles tire.

“Yes, Ma’am. But I like looking at you.”

“And I enjoy looking at you,” finger’s peeling the thick Spandex garb.

Yes, the visual thrill of the naked male brings exhilaration. Particularly when vulnerable and well bound.

“Perhaps less know... under the hood,” the suggestion impertinent but so humbly expressed.

“No Robert. As has been explained, depriving you of sight is important for your sense of complete submission to me,” the explanation coming as Robert blinks and labors to adjust his eyes to the room light. “And it mandates that you better listen and focus on my controlling hand when I’ve leashed you. And you do want to focus on my control.”

“Oh yes Ma’am.”

“Plus it enhances your sense of smell, taste... and touch,” the latter word coming as a hand lowers and playfully diddles right nipple and left, smiling in seeing the nubs instantly crinkle in response.    

Miss Alex returns to the task at hand, soaping the head and face and smoothing about the straight edged razor.

She is dishearteningly quick. Robert is returned to sightlessness within moments.

“You’ll be permitted to see on Saturday. Harness you and take you for a nice long jaunt to the peek,” sensing Robert’s disappointment. 

“That would be very nice Miss Alex. Will I be able to look at you... you know... like on the island?”

“You mean bottomless... like when I was a little girl? You males are such hounds.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Those days of rutting are over, Robert. Mother had her little penchants... but she’s gone... and the island is gone.”

“It’s sad Miss Alex.”

“Yes. But I kept you. You’re safe and well cared for Robert.”

“Yes, thank you Ma’am.”

The exchange comes as the cable is reattached to the back of the hood, returning the naked human steed to suspension, lying helplessly prostrate above the cement floor

“I’ll get your dinner. Then you can have a nice sleep. Tomorrow is Friday,” having to remind in that her steed cannot possible track the days... not to mention the time. “So an easy two miles on the treadmill.”

“Can you loosen the clasp a little so... you know...”

“No. You always miss the bucket and make a mess on the floor. Besides I enjoy having your bodily functions under feminine control. And you do to. You’ll urinate for me in the morning.” 

Hands reach, the left tenderly smoothing down the covered cheek, the right returning to toy with right nipple then left. Robert squirms. Alexandra knows it to be a sign of appreciation.

“And no more talking. I’ve got to feed you then feed myself.”

Sunday, November 14, 2021

'Alexandra Morris' published

 I have published the referenced story on Lulu.

43,000+ words. $5.50

Be sure to allow yourself to view explicit content.



Saturday, November 13, 2021

'Alexandra Morris', Segment I

New Story

I've been writing but not posting.  I've learned to finish a story before posting any segments, thus the time warp.

'Alexandra Morris', Female Dominant, male submissive. Some pony play... it's been awhile.

Enjoy. Complete story available on Lulu soon.



Alexandra Morris

Copyright 2021

by Chris Bellows

Alexandra Morris slows her Mercedes Benz, braking strongly to turn off the fast moving county road. Though she notes little traffic behind, she never lingers when entering the secluded long driveway of her estate, approaching quickly and turning at the highest yet safest rate of speed, the black Mercedes seemingly swallowed by the thick shrubbery and towering pines outlining the right of way.

The drivers of passing cars never take notice, the entrance way appearing to lead to a neglected farm or campsite.

Pressing the electronic remote for the gate of solid steel some hundred yards ahead, Alexandra times her entrance perfectly, the car slipping through, the gate closing rapidly with the sensors detecting her passage. She checks the rearview mirror assuring no interloper has passed through. Her many acres are otherwise walled and fenced in, ten feet of concrete and heavy gauged links topped with sophisticated motion detectors to assure isolation.

It’s been a long busy day, resulting in eagerness... to change into more comfortable clothes... to open a fine bottle of wine... to visit her basement... to dote over Robert.

It’s a curiously dichotomous lifestyle, she once again reminds herself. By day, chief executive and owner of a multimillion dollar business, evenings and weekends... glorious weekends... Mistress of an exclusive estate... with... recreational benefits. Her thoughts bring bemusement, a smile radiating as she pulls the Mercedes to the front of the mid sized mansion.

She can afford larger... more prestigious... but prestige for whom? She dares not have visitors. Alexandra has yet to even conjure how she can arrange the practicality of household help.

She thinks about her late mother, such an opulent lifestyle... the many servants. Of equivalent wealth, Mother Morris inherited at a young age, father Morris long out of the picture, and used the vast funds to augment her... her... sexual orientation?

Front door unlocked, Alexandra enters, immediately decoding the alarm then locking the door behind. To the bedroom, the sleek business attire is doffed. White blouse, beige jodhpurs... special jodhpurs... knee high black leather boots donned. It’s to the kitchen, Alexandra peering out the window noting the expanse of green pasture below. The Chateau of granite and marble is built on a knoll, the many open acres are a level below the kitchen and slope away. The view is extensive.    

She notes there remains much daylight... but not enough for an extensive ride. Early autumn means such will need to wait for weekends. Still her steed and loyal companion requires exercise and toilet. Sustenance will come later. Yes, a quiet evening of bathing, grooming, and feeding the male beast so long relegated to her care. 

Ice bucket, bottle of Chardonnay, glass and cork screw, Alexandra turns to the door leading to the basement. Fingers pressing another keypad, she has mentally conditioned herself not to consider her descent to lead to a stable facility. Basement... basement... basement she tells herself.

There are no facilities for human steeds in the posh suburbs of Westchester County, New York! Or are there?

Door opened, a hand reaches. A light switch is flicked, the vast basement area alights under some half dozen powerful halogen fixtures. Boots tap the concrete. Mentally Miss Alexandra Morris returns to the halcyon days of her youth, growing up in the stables of her mother’s exotic tropical island gynecocracy.

“Good evening Robert. Had a good day?” the tone cheery and passive, but known to project her governance.

“I’ve missed you Miss Alex,” the male voice deep and resonate, yet passive.

“Of course you have. I know you’re hungry, but let’s walk you first. It’s a nice evening and I need to relax... finally out of the stuffy office.”

Miss Alex places the bucket of ice on a nearby bench, inserts the wine bottle and opens. In doing so she gazes over her naked companion... refraining from thinking of the term ‘steed’.

As trained years ago by Mother Morris, the bronzed giant is suspended prostrate some three feet above the solid cement of the floor by a series of configured ceiling cables. The cables hold thick padded straps, one encircling the chest, two encircling the widely parted thighs left and right. A fourth attaches to a hood of black spandex cloth, rigidly but comfortably holding the head level with no strain on the neck.  

As Miss Alex fills her wine glass, she recalls mother’s lectures... her words... ‘firm but comfortable’... long term restraint is for eroding the will... molding the mind into a state of capitulation... not for physical pain and suffering. 

“A long day for me, Robert. So much paperwork... so many meetings. I envy you... just idly hanging... waiting for your governess. No complicated thoughts... just one... to perform for me.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I ah... do need...”

“Yes, of course. To urinate. But let’s go outside... not mess with a bucket.”

Miss Alex takes a sip then steps to a wall arrayed with tacking gear.

“Just a leash and testicle clamp tonight Robert. I know you need more exercise. But the weekend is coming and then I’ll take you on a nice long ride.”

Miss Alex detects the sound of a hurrumph of dejection. She smiles, knowing how much her human steed enjoys being run into a good lather. But not tonight, dusk beckons.

Grabbing the curious contraption, a set of hinged metal plates, there come reflective thoughts... as a girl... Mother Morris showing how to entrap the male organs between the flat steel, attaching the controlling cord... leash... and pulling ever so gently to demonstrate the that slightest of tugs can bring such instant excruciation to the restrained male.

‘Just an initial tug... establish your control and authority... and the male beast will follow wherever your little heart desires,’ the maternal words advising so calmly as, in wonderment, a young Alexandra observed the resulting lurch.

“Perhaps the penis leash instead, Miss Alex,” the suggesting words so meekly offered.

“No, no Robert. You know I prefer to have you by your balls... and deep within I think you do as well.”  

“And my arms and hands... I’m obedient.”

“No again, Robert. You just wouldn’t feel right. You think you’d be better off... but you won’t be. You need to feel your total submission.”

The words come as Miss Alex deftly attaches the testicle clamp. And yes, there comes a gentle tug to assure proper adhesion.

Next the straps are unhooked, right leg then left lower, feet touching the floor again after many hours of idling in the basement air. Bent arms remaining strapped behind his back, Robert carefully rights himself and the chest strap is likewise unhooked.

“Bend,” the simple command bringing quick compliance

“May I see you?” the full hood remaining in place as the cable at the back of the head is released.

“No. I want to walk you blinded. It... well... you know how much total control enthralls... both of us.”

The eye patch thus remains in place... the hood covering the entire cranium but for a large single opening for the nose and mouth.

Leash in one hand, Miss Alex retrieves her wine glass, stepping to the broad overhead door of the makeshift basement stable. Another key code is entered. The door of reenforced steel rolls upwards. No one enters the secured stable without the code. And her human steed certainly will never depart without supervision.

“May I harden for you Miss Alex?”

“You do like showing off for me, Robert. And I do too. You really impressed me with your penis when I was a girl,” Miss Alex chuckling as she presses a button and the door lifts.       

Selected for purchase on the tropical island, Mother Morris explained just about the sole criteria for Robert’s acquisition was his endowment. Uncircumcised and measured at some ten inches, Miss Alex recalls the pleasant memories of watching her mother weekly measure as Robert matured, the gonads thickening and thickening and seeming to beckon the testicle clamp more each day.

“Hold your bladder, Robert. I know you have to go so you’ll have a nice firm piss proud erection for me.”

Miss Alex leads to a patio area, momentarily stowing her wine glass as fingers ever so carefully remove the infibulating clasp inhibiting erection. Threaded through two pierced openings in the impressive foreskin, when tightly in place, Robert can neither achieve tumescence nor urinate... unless granted the noblesse oblige of a woman’s attention.

“There,” Miss Alex proclaims with enthusiasm. “Let’s get you nice and hard... and we’ll walk... and talk,” the clasp going to her pocket.

“Thank you, Miss Alex... thank you,” the expression of gratitude sincere.

Miss Alex leads to the grassy pasture, turning to watch as the enormous steel encased penis of her steed slowly engorges. Despite the weighty cylinder encapsulating almost the entire shaft, she smiles in seeing the length stand to greet the setting sun.

“Good boy, Robert.”

“Could you?.. well?..”

“You’re not asking me to masturbate you... are you Robert?” Miss Alex’s tone turning grave and foreboding.

“Oh, no Ma’am... never...”

Held in chastity... seemingly unending chastity... Robert knows expunging male essence is always under a woman’s prerogative... never to be requested or beseeched. 

“Good. And yes, I realize it’s been awhile. But just as with the constant bondage... being leashed, tethered and led about... it’s important for you... your psyche... to feel a woman’s constant dominion over you. If I were to grant emancipation... where would you go, Robert?.. what would you do? No money... no clothes... no education... no skills. There are no openings for pony boys in Westchester County, New York, Robert.”

“Then... well... may I taste you?”

The quest brings a smile... and a sense of the prevenience in wearing the special jodhpurs. For at the crotch, there is no zipper... no buttons. Thus the leash hand slips within the folds, quickly and effortlessly gathering an abundance of feminine essence. Yes there is frothiness in sensing total empowerment over the male beast... the extensively endowed male beast.

The wet hand retracts and reaches, fingers to coat the nose and lips of her steed. A huge tongue eagerly juts forth, licking fervently as the nostrils flare to inhale. Miss Alex laughs.

“And where would you utilize your oral skills, Robert?”     

The hand is presented to be licked clean. Then it lowers, toying with the nipples.

“Waggle for me.”

Conditioned... well trained... the humiliating quest brings instant compliance, the steel encased length bobbing about.

“Good boy. Do you remember first tasting me, Robert? I was a young girl.”

“Yes, Ma’am. And very pretty... you know... down there. I like looking at you.”

“Of course... you’re a male... graphically aroused. Yes, Mother was well aware of the male libido. She had her ways, using my charms to intoxicate. But those days are over.”

Miss Alex turns, gently pulling to lead onwards to a copse of trees sheltering a picnic area for the warm days of summer. Robert of course follows, diligently maintaining desired slack on the testicle leash.

Equestrienne and human steed, in the gloaming of the setting sun, she recalls prancing about the stables of Mother’s extravagant island home... the warm Caribbean breezes caressing her near nakedness. In a way she misses those days, daring not to replicate such ambiance even in the seclusion of her New York estate. Yes, adulthood has brought a degree of modesty, the many days of nudity from the waist downward ending as puberty brought awareness. Before that, exposure to the naked and well trussed steeds of her mother’s stable brought no reservations. And as she has reminded Robert, as an outgoing and empowered young minx, Mother encouraged... and a young Alexandra Morris discovered... the delights of being licked... anywhere and everywhere her mischievous mind desired. Her orgasms were many... dry but pleasurable.

And to her mother’s credit, a young Alexandra Morris became most acclimated to the oral subservience of captive male beasts. So acclimated that when her mother passed on, and bribes to local authorities were truncated, in the hurly burly of having to sell the enclave for women of dominance and equine pursuits, a college aged Alexandra managed to furtively steal away her favorite steed Robert. Consensual?.. non consensual but quirkily acceptable?.. Robert’s servitude continues in the shadows of the country’s largest city.    

To a picnic table, Miss Alex guides, seating herself to face her steed.

“Down,” the command crisp and succinct, the knees bending. “Shuffle closer.”

The wine glass goes to the table. A free hand extends, a finger going to the mushroom shaped tip of the engorged glans penis, the foreskin well receded in arousal. Such knowingly circles about, bringing a brisance of evanescent male pleasure, Mother Morris’s training extensive concerning the male sexual anatomy.

The massive length waggles anew, bringing another chuckle.

“You’re due for another stud, Robert. I know you have no calendar... can’t read a calendar... but your anniversary is coming up in a few months.  

“Please no, Miss Alex. It’s... it’s....” 

“Painful... as intended... and confining... as intended... and conferring more masculine submission... as intended... and augmenting the permanence... as intended... and so nicely glorifying a woman’s total control over you.”

The hand goes to the steel cylinder, a finger sliding to the base where there are the aforementioned protruding studs, rubbing gently.

Such are dull... not endangering the epidermis of her finger tip... but for certain precluding normal male stroking... and of course vaginal penetration as Mother Morris was so vehement in prohibiting.

“Let’s see... I count fifteen. So fifteen years since Mother acquired you. Do you recall when first placed in the chastity cylinder?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Well let’s count the openings awaiting the studs. Looks like nine. So I’ll be skewering your penis shaft with nine more studs.”

The surface of the otherwise smooth precision made steel implement has small round holes where a metal stud can be inserted.... eight rows, three to a row. The internal end is sharp and stud is super cooled to shrink in size before application. Such is pressed through to painfully enter the flesh of the penis shaft, measured not to impair functionality but to assure that the male appendage and the steel encasement become one. As the studs warm, such expand and become one with the cylinder, The first three studs were enough to impede removal under threat of damage... the remaining studs are symbolic... that which represents male omnipotence is greatly tamed and controlled.  

“It’s... it’s not necessary, Miss Alex. I am obedient... I won’t... you know... stroke myself,” the tone pitiful.

“I know silly boy... you can’t.”

“I mean... you know... when my hands are free... when being bathed.”   

“It’s more for your state of complete submission, Robert.... between the ears. To fully understand that you’ve ceded your sexual needs to a woman... and that such is acknowledged every year.”

The hand retracts bringing forth another subtle hurrumph of dejection, touch... ever so brief... ever so slight... greatly desired.

“You cannot talk and taste at the same time, naughty boy,” the hand moving to the face, a finger slipping past the lips to playfully diddle the broad, strong and well trained tongue.

Message received, the blinded human steed docilely allows owner Miss Alexandra to guide the head and face lower. Between the thighs, to the folds of the special jodhpurs, such are facilely pushed aside. There comes a feminine sigh... and more recollections of cunnilingus on demand in Mother Morris’s Caribbean stable. The stronger scent brings renewed stiffness... and silence... other than the sounds of wet pink flesh savoring wet pink flesh. 

The leash hand relinquishes its grip, going to the back of the cloth covered head, further guiding and pulling, the odd desire to pull the delightful invading tongue into the vagina... into the uterus... into her... make the skilled appendage one with her sex. Within moments, when well trained oral servant senses oscillations, without command or encouragement, the tongue shifts, rising to find the swollen bud. Knowing of its sensitivity such gently curls and enshrouds. Lips begin to suckle. There comes an explosion... physical and emotional. A shriek. Release. The setting sun seems to momentarily disappear. A sigh of satiation. Then realization. That the chances... the risks... the costs of having a kept male beast... seem trivial.  

Alexandra Morris knows of no other form of sexual satiation. And in further recompense her captive does not as well.

“Good boy. Clean up time... and I need to empty myself.”

The knowing tongue shifts, hungrily swathing about to gather all the slick feminine essence to be had, then deftly shifts again to find the urethral opening and humbly await. The deed normally considered revolting, for Alexandra Morris, raised in the gynecocracy of her mother’s island paradise... feminine island paradise... toileting the male is de rigeur. She opens. Steed Robert partakes... a thirsty beast stranded in desert sands.   

“Thank you, Miss Alex... thank you.”

The meek words of gratitude, permitted to relish that which is otherwise cast aside, brings its own delight. There comes a smug smile. 

“And you, Robert, may now urinate for me. Shuffle about and turn.”

Remaining on knees, Robert complies. With penis remaining stiff, to accomplish will be difficult. But he needs to empty... and he also needs to further please... the intimate deed known to bring entertainment. As he summons the will to press himself open and empty through his steel encased erection, he feels hands slip about his shoulders, fingers going to nipples, the sensitivity enhanced by the many weeks of strict chastity.

She knows. How is it she knows?.. seeming to vicariously sense the sublime thrill of her touch!   

“Go ahead.... water my lawn. Then it’s feeding time, into suspension and a nice sponge bath. Wouldn’t want to spoil you with too much time out harness or not hanging from my ceiling.”  

Wednesday, August 4, 2021

I am not dead. I've been writing stuff, sporadically, for Pink Flamingo. A full length story should be coming out from them within the next few weeks, entitled 'The Donor'. Female Dominant/male submissive. I will post here when it is published.

Slowing down my efforts, I clumsily overwrote some 47,000 words written as the sequel to 'The Donor'. I have a hard copy but must retype the manuscript into the word processor, an incredibly boring task, given that I have previously proof read the stuff five to six times.

But to titillate my hyperactive kinky mind, and to keep my fingers active, I am working on a third segment of the 'Donor' series. It's strong stuff, 25,000 words to date. But coming to an end probably at 30,000+.

So I thank you all for your concerns... and I'm still writing. But I am senescing. So after what I approximate to be some 15,000,000 words of quality smut, production will diminish.


Sunday, December 13, 2020

Finding Lulu Stories

I posted a comment concerning 'Lulu' and explicit stories and thought I'd better reiterate in a general post. 

When searching for stories on Lulu you must inform the seller that you are of age in order to view 'explicit content'.

I have recently worked back and assured that all of my stuff is so designated, a recent capability with Lulu's new format. I have also placed the stories in the categories of fiction/erotica/BDSM which was not offered as a selection on the former Lulu publishing page ('Love & Relationships' was as close as I could categorize, not only somewhat ludicrous but leading to confusion and negative reviews).

If you go to 'search' on, click 'fiction', scroll down and at the extreme bottom left you will see a box to click, enabling you to see explicit stuff (putting in your birthday).

Thereafter searching for 'Chris Bellows' as author should give rise to a listing of my stuff.

Saturday, December 12, 2020

'Surrendering Maleness', Segment Three

This will be the last posted segment. A good holiday and Happy New Year to all.



It’s Saturday night. I am in the townhouse of my keyholder, Joan Gifford. I visit weekly in the hopes that some evening she will deign to unlock me, a reward for my fastidious oral servitude. Yet she has relinquished the key to Dr. Susan Fromm, release needed for the procedure which will terminate my masculinity, the ultimate in capitulation to the superior gender.

So why am I here?

I bare myself, strap in place the waiting blue nylon cuffs and encircle my neck with the matching blue prosthetic neck collar. Then I wait, kneeling in silence, staring at the latex hood, wads of cotton and leash which will guide me about. My mind occupies itself... how many tonight... will there be new tastes... will I sense stronger orgasmic clenches... struggle for life sustaining air as a woman of purpose chooses to deny me in order to maximize her pleasure?

Finally the shapely and athletically trim Miss Joan descends from above, the ubiquitous white robe flipping about to flash her charms, the straps of her cunnilingus harness dangling to beckon my collar.

I know to respectfully bow my head.   

“I’m surprised you’ve chosen to visit Robert. You know I no longer have the key. You’ll now only be freed when you submit to Dr. Fromm,” the words coming as she takes my arms and guides my hands to my back.

She clips together my wrist cuffs, the bondage more symbolic at this point. I am completely obedient to her... to all women of authority. I must suppose she knows it makes me feel better, so yielding to her dominion, the submissive male psyche finding joy.

“A treat tonight. Though it will only be me, I want you to sample my cunny.”

The words bring a brisance. For many, many Saturdays my tongue and lips have solely savored the rosebud openings of so many, the treasure of warm moist and succulent flesh denied me. 

”Just a little. And I want you to know after Susan puts you in the penis pod you’ll be feasting. I’ll have the girls in for a soiree... and just maybe... if you’re a good boy... I won’t have you hooded. You can taste, you can see, you can adore... all the feminine flesh you can have Robert. Won’t that be nice? After all, you’ll be closer to being one of us... your penis forever tucked away... your ridiculous blue scrotum hidden... those little testicles never again to be seen... and growing littler and littler each and every day.”   

The words both horrify and excite. I curse this paraphilia!

So a reward... an inducement. Visit Dr. Fromm, finalize the descent into submission, cede my maleness... and all is mine. Saturday evenings of unbridled debauchery... as long as I am vicariously able to find pleasure in that of domineering women.

Plus the stress of late... at work. Strip searched and anally penetrated on arrival, diapered and polishing boots under the thumb of the seemingly kindly harridan Miss Wanda. Sans steel, such would end.

I glance down as Miss Joan prepares the cotton, stuffing right ear then left. I glare at the cage of steel, locked in place for so long. I am mindful of Miss Monique Von Buren, my initial keyholder... of the training... to pose for her... to perform... to release the nasty male sludge at the snap of her fingers... she who conditioned me... initiating impotency.

Finally relieved of maleness, ending the urges, accepting the realization of my proclivity... my role to please... never to be pleased... and I would be free. Nothing to ever again be locked away.

The tight blue latex hood is slipped over my head, hands tugging mightily. As Miss Joan’s fingers work to align the large opening for my nose and mouth, I most obsequiously thrust forth my tongue and lick... her digits... her palm. I want all of her, sense her joy, her pleasure. In reward, her free hand diddles my nipples, hypersensitive with the months of denial. She then covers my mouth and pinches closed my nostrils, a demonstration of her mastery. I will breathe again when she decides, no motion in resisting, not a flinch to suggest concern. I am hers. She takes, I give... reveling in the exchange of power... as does she.