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The demented musings of author Chris Bellows, mostly fictional. Strong D/s. Sexual mayhem. No macabre. Not for the uninitiated. Certainly not for the timid. Other stories available... http://www.eroticbooknetwork.com/ ... www.pinkflamingo.com... www.lulu.com/spotlight/chris_bellows... see the June 23, 2011 posting for more sites.
A reader has reported problems accessing and purchasing my stories from Lulu.
Any comments... feedback?
CB
As a reminder, if you have not read the 'Prominence' trilogy, these vignettes my seem incongruous.
*****
The Cabot Estate Routine
For Roberta, life at the Cabot Estate falls into a daily routine... of subjugation and humiliation of course... yet a routine.
With the arrival of Executive Vice President Leona Parsons, a delivery truck later dropped off a crate of significant size and weight. Jabari put her muscling to work, dragging into the house, up the stairs to the master bedroom. There Roberta watched in dismay as a cage of steel bars was assembled, designed for a massive pet. Dismay grew as Roberta realized there was no pet in the Cabot household.
“You’ll feel safe, Roberta,” Jabari chided in tightening the last bolt.
Powerful meaty hands then grasped Roberta’s chain, painfully taking in the slack and guiding Roberta into the enclosure of steel.
“See, nice and confining for you. And certainly better than four point restraint... or being forced to sleep sitting upright.”
In referencing the extensive indoctrination at the Clinic of Zolanda, later enduring Master Satana’s operant conditioning in the prison bedroom of the Queen’s Palace, Roberta once again comes to understand that the vast video archive of his servitude to the Queen is apparently open to viewing. Can anyone access?
“You must always be reminded of your place, Roberta,” Jabari adds with a sardonic snort.
Yes, Roberta is to remain sleeping in the master bedroom of Miss Harriet. Yet now hunched, curled up in a dog cage as Miss Leona and Miss Harriet cuddle together. She is mindful of the nightly Sapphic embrace of Masters Satana and Sodoma, awakened throughout the many nights with moans, groans and orgasmic shrieks of pleasure.
Yes, Roberta now slumbers while subordinated to a mechanical device, a locking mechanism clicking open every morning, a timer releasing Roberta so that she can quietly arise, chain herself and begin the day of servitude... the first duty typically being to retrieve and clean the soiled dildo from the prior evening’s long and deep pegging.
Yes, with a snap of fingers, words superfluous, Roberta mounts the mattress, assumes the genupectoral position, spreads herself for penetration and awaits.
Coffee is prepared, Roberta returning to the bedroom tray in hand, endeavoring to quiet her many bells, humbly kneeling in wait, Master Harriet to stir first.
With Miss Leona’s presence, Roberta is heartened that his Louisiana Master too has taken to sleeping nude... no cat suit... and just as Masters Satana and Sodoma she toilets him.
“An invigorating start of the day, don’t you think Roberta? For both of us,” Miss Harriet adds with a nonchalant snicker, knowing of the intensity of the power exchange and Roberta’s quirky thrill as an attentive tongue dutifully tidies her quim.
Coffee is offered. Miss Harriet takes her cup and steps to a wall arrayed with Feeldoes and anal insertions; She selects, tossing to the carpet where Roberta remains kneeling. She in turn knows to impale herself in silence as Miss Harriet sips, amused in watching the self deprecating thrust of the stout rubber egg. She then steps to the shower and Miss Leona stirs and rises.
Having not before the basked in the full beauty of she who masterminded her downfall, Roberta gazes in admiration. Within weeks Miss Leona begins to show, Chester Mark junior gestating within her belly. And whereas Miss Leona was initally shy in utilizing Roberta’s mouth, pregnancy brings urgent bladder needs and she more and more finds Roberta’s mouth, tongue and lips to be convenient.
As her new Masters bathe and groom Roberta retreats to the kitchen. Breakfast is prepared. Roberta serves. Miss Leona too has come to enjoy watching as Roberta goes to all fours eating from a dog bowl. Ladened with table scraps, on occasion Roberta will feel a warm comfortng hand cradle her well exposed, elongated scrotal sac as she knows to keep well parted her knees and thighs.
“Such an anomaly, a girl chained by her balls,” Miss Leona pleasantly taunts. “The pills, Roberta. The anti androgens are right here. Miss Harriet will place on your tongue. The ultimate in male submission to the governing female. It can begin today... the final step in your transition.”
The hand squeezes, gently but firmly, assuring Roberta’s attention.
“Two hundred milligrams of transformation, Roberta. It’s a decision... to be made by you. And you’ll make it. The time will come.”
Roberta turns his head away from her feeding bowl to see Miss Harriet standing proximate, pill bottle in hand, shaking, the rattling of the large tablet ominous
Refusal is subtle, Roberta returning her face to her bowl.
Needless to say, Roberta senses relief as her Masters complete the morning meal and depart for the office. Thereafter housework begins, cleaning, laundry, preceded by what Roberta finds to be more and more the highlight of her day... prettifying. Yes, she fancies performing her household duties appearing as effeminate as possible, frequently pausing before mirrors to assure what she hopes is allure.
At day’s ending, wine is chilled, hors d’oeuvres prepared, her new Masters to be pampered after a day in the office. Yet the most meaningful preparation... a thorough internal cleansing, butt plug temporarily removed, abundant lubrication to readily welcome anal penetration.
Miss Leona Parsons Moves In
Roberta exits the basement learning of the commotion. Leona Parsons has entered with Major Domo Jabari following, effortlessly carrying heavy luggage, powerful arms bringing from the company limousine the belongings of the Benchmark boss lady.
“Good morning, Miss Leona,” Roberta highlighting her servitude in curtsying.
Leona smiles wanly, otherwise ignoring. She turns to Harriet Cabot descending the stairs from her bedroom.
“Has she begun taking her pills?”
Harriet shakes her head.
“Still reluctant. Looks like a girl, dresses like a girl... when permitted... thinks like a girl, acts like a maid, gets fanny fucked like a whore... but won’t take the final step.”
“She has taken to makeup. And her hair looks good. Do you help her, Harriet?”
“Oh, no. It’s all her doing. Does her nails... fingers and toes... despite having to do so much housework.”
“In Zolanda, she’d be enduring some unending stress position... until she decides. Have you seen the videos of the heretic’s fork, Harriet? Quite effective.”
Roberta is dismayed in being talked about... objectified. And the horrid memory of bearing the devilishly shaped strip of metal under her chin brings turmoil within.
“We need to talk, Roberta. About what is best for Benchmark Oil... and what’s best for you... and your transition,” Leona finally addressing.
“I can cane her for you, Leona,” Jabari gleefully stepping into the exchange.
“Yes, it would be refreshing to hear her squeal. But such marks would make her unappealing. And it’s best that she mentally and emotionally capitulate... accept the transition.”
Harriet leads Jabari, taking the luggage up the stairs.
“Come Roberta, to the den. We’ll talk.”
To move, Roberta gathers up the long slim long locked to her testicle rings, bringing Leona to smile with the most humiliating form of bondage.
“You’ve come to enjoy your nakedness... presenting your feminized and hairless form to fully clothed women,” Leona observes in leading the way, smiling in hearing Roberta’s many bells. “You may speak.”
Yes, there is a continuous distant thrill, Roberta has come to accept. Such places her in a unquestionable position of subservience... and vulnerability. And oddly comforts... as Dr. Humbert and the Clinic staff in Zolanda long ago confirmed.
“I... I... have... ah... well it’s acceptable.”
“Yes, so it seems” Leona entering the masculine office of the Cabot family estate.
She sits at the massive desk. Roberts knows to humbly stand.
“Harriet tells me that you chain yourself... quite obediently, every morning.”
”Yes, Miss Leona. It’s as she directs. I am to be under strict bondage throughout the day.”
“Yes, more acceptance. And it certainly exemplifies who you are... what you are... within the Cabot household. But has not Harriet... Miss Harriet suggested you may choose not to bind yourself?”
Roberta recalls, having put the paradoxical offer out of her mind... that to decline locking in place the chain would mean she would never again feel of strange comfort of its restrictions. She cannot bring herself to choose freedom.
Why?
And furthermore Roberta, why your testicle rings? Harriet tells me you have the option... securing your chain to the control ring... perhaps simply encircling your waist and locking in place.”
Damn the provocative observations. Roberta searches for a reply not to come.
“The cyproterone acetate will... among other effects... shrink your unsightly testicles... unsightly in respect of your need to appear effeminate. And as I am sure you’ve been told will... in time... cause your testicle rings to finally slip away. Currently such are quite painful... when you’re leashed under a woman’s firm directing hand. Yet, conversely it seems such are also acceptable. Is that why there is reluctance to take the pills? You want to be forever subject to such debasing control?”
Food for thought. Roberta ponders in silence.
“I think you fantasize, Roberta. When working about the house you imagine a firm, strict woman is at the other end of your chain. And that excites you.”
Roberta closes her eyes in shame. They know her... the women of the Clinic... now the women of Benchmark Oil... all fully aware of her needs... her penchants... her craving for humiliation... exhibition... the innate masochism... so explicitly and thoroughly diagnosed.
There is no escaping what she is. Is it good that such needs are so aptly addressed?
“We start with massive dosages, Roberta. That will curtail some of the silly male urges... like concern for getting yourself off instead of pleasing the women who you are meant to serve. It will help you focus. But castration is best done slowly... so the mental and emotional side can transcend with the physical. After a week or so we’ll lower the dosage. You’ll revel in the oh so slow transition... to complete womanhood. Yes in time the testicles will shrink... the rings slipping away. But also the cage, Roberta. Your penis will shrivel as well. You will no longer torment yourself... fighting the spikes... should you some how have an inadvertent desire to harden for us.”
Roberta begins to tremble in envisioning the process, his maleness completely surrendering.
“And in time, no cage at all, Roberta. There are... let’s say... procedures... that can make you... your remnants of masculinity... more presentable. Costly, but when it comes time it will be done at my directive and my expense. Consider it a Benchmark Oil employee benefit.”
Roberta begins to well up. Her tears become a concern... her makeup under duress.
“When I began working at Benchmark as a teen out of high school, the atmosphere was toxic... for women. Such a wild crew of frat boys Benchmark was. Explore and drill... explore and drill. No financial discipline... as Harriet and I are finally cleaning up. And I’ve transformed more. The entire leadership team are women. Yes, there are the roustabouts. But I’ve been hiring women foremen. The likes of Benson are dinosaurs at Benchmark. Women will supervise everything. Men will remain... as chattel. Beasts doing the heavy work... under female supervision. That’s the way its becoming... and that’s the way it will be.”
Roberta listens, impressed with the pride and determination. The woman leads, she dictates, and the likes of Benson and the burly drilling crews listen and obey.
“I brought back the pink tent regimen for more than monetary savings, Roberta... flying the crews in and out for sabbaticals. No more. But I fully understand young men... normal young men... must get their rocks off. Henceforth at Benchmark, it will be under a woman’s direction... with no female employee or contract worker being disparaged... her esteem under assault. Women foremen will decide who visits the pink tent and when. Thus your new role at Benchmark. You sucked, bent and spread for Eddie Pringle and the crew in Zolanada. And you will be sucking, bending and spreading quite often... in the Yukon... in Mexico... in Malaysia... in Libya... wherever we drill. And, yes, Zolanda. In time you’ll be going back. But you’ll need to be made more presentable. And it will be best for you to feel more like a woman... pleasing men as would a trollop, yes. Fellatio... anal sodomy. But appearing as would a woman.”
Roberta finds herself nodding in agreement.
“So... the pills, Roberta. I would hate to have to have Jabari cane you. Such nasty welts. And if such don’t properly heal, you’ll be even more unpresentable”
As stated, I will be posting a series of vignettes continuing the exploits of Robert... Roberta Probert. If you have not read the three part story 'Prominence' these epilogues may not seem to flow.
*****
At the Cabot Estate
Roberta Probert attempts to look at the bright side of her new regimen of servitude. At least she does not have to endure the unbridled humiliation of parading about the office of Benchmark Oil... garishly attired, bells ringing, ringed testicles flashing. Or worse being walked completely nude by the firm leash hand of aspiring dominatrix Edie.
No, though her mandated nakedness continues, at least such is in the quiet privacy of the Cabot ancestral mansion. And no leash! Though the protocol of being fettered by the long testicle chain resumes.
‘I want you always reminded of your status, Roberta. It’s important for you,’ Master Harriet Cabot tapping the well coifed hair on her head as Roberta presses to snap closed the small padlock of the restricting chain. ‘And you’ll feel better.’
Roberta found herself agreeing, in silence. Feminine governance became more and more appreciated during her many days of serving in the pink tent of the Zolanda drill site. Men can be beasts in demanding sexual gratification! No males at the Cabot Estate.
Roberta feeds a batch of clothing into the dryer then reloads the washing machine, the drudgery of maid service ironically welcomed, receptive to boredom after the past few weeks.
She recalls her last visit to Benchmark Headquarters, the conflicting emotions... the glee of finally being released from the penis cage, the accomplished hand of Leona Parsons to ply her skills in ending many months of denial. Versus the subjugation and distress of being stripped naked before so many eyeballs... and then endure the ignominy of having his manhood become a training implement for the dilettante Edie.
‘Stroke... then twist... always keep the erection pointed down. That forestalls ejaculation, Edie. A man only comes at a woman’s behest. That’s important to establish. Yes, that’s good. Now another stroke... slowly... the timing is yours no matter the squirming or the begging. Free hand under his balls. Rub the perineum... another erogenous zone. Perhaps a squeeze to the testicles... yes... right then left. Firm, let him know who’s in charge... yes... that’s it... but not too painful. Your message will come across with a simple squeeze or two.’
Leona Parsons’ directives are burned into Roberta’s hippocampus. Within minutes the girl became masterful, not only learning of the foibles of the male reproduction process... the stimulation needed for both continuing arousal and denial... but so much enjoying. Such a wicked smile in withholding ultimate release!
Puppet and puppeteer.
Roberta adds detergent, sighing to herself in memories of the distant satiation as a finger flicks the start button for another load. He... she... got off... she consoles herself. Ultimately, at Edie’s command, shooting ropes of thick semen to the carpeting of Leona’s office... Miss Jabari, Miss Harriet, Miss Leona cheering as months of pent up male essence spewed forth. Such ecstasy....yet so quick... evanescent.
Then thoughts of the resulting tranquility and satiation fade. Ice, flaccidity summarily returned, the cage... young hands deftly handling his maleness with impunity, the small but sophisticated lock clicking closed, returning her to chastity.
Despite the numbing ice, the return to the confinement of the cage and the harsh spikes within brought futile words of protest, earning a chorus of laughter and a response from Miss Harriet.
‘Take the pills, Roberta. The end will come slowly, but it will come. Two hundred milligrams... twice daily.’
Laundry under control, Roberta hears commotion above. She grasps the slim chain limiting her movement, not to stray from the house, and heads for the stairs. A new Master will be joining the household. Leona Cabot, within months expecting the arrival of Chester Mark junior, is moving in to join Master Harriet at the Cabot Estate.
Bells ringing... earrings, nipples and testicles... Miss Harriet insisting that Roberta sonorously announce her subservience... she ascends to the main floor. In taking the steps Roberta can feel her anal plug and the squishiness of abundant lubrication. Such bring the unwanted twinges within her penis cage. Thankfully ice is always at the ready in the kitchen.
Roberta realizes such continuous impalement can be curtailed, slipping away the stout egg of rubber when Miss Harriet leaves the house. But such would need to be replaced with Miss Harriet’s return. Plus there is acceptance in being made receptive to pegging. Roberta has come to understand her needs... for humility, for pleasing others, for prostate manipulation. And there are prospective stints in the pink tent, Benchmark’s promiscuous recreation program for isolated roustabouts. One needs to remain supple.
There will be no furthers snippets from the published story.
Look here on the blog for vignettes narrating the travails of Robert Probert, posted haphazardly.
CB
*****
Returned to Where It Began
Robert stirs. He takes counsel of himself. He lies supine. He cannot see, opening his eyes to darkness. There is white noise filling his ears. He cannot move, arms nor legs.
It must be... the Clinic.
How? Why? When?
He thinks... the treadmill... feet pounding, legs pumping, Master Sodoma supervising, taps of the rattan to his bare buttocks... and then?
The static fades from his ears.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Probert,” the voice of Dr. Martha Humbert booms. “Back with us again.”
Robert attempts to respond. No words come, there is something in his throat.
“You’ ve been intubated. Don’t try to speak. We’ll remove it soon. Do you recall what happened?”
Robert shakes his head. At least he is not in five point restrain as with his last visit.
“You were being exercised and passed out. Fortunately Sodoma was quick and released your testicle leash before you stumbled and castrated yourself. Satana once again had to carry you here. Your scrotum is healing, the barbed testicle rings functioned as intended,” Robert feeling fingers smooth about the hairless flesh of his sac. There is noted soreness. “An incident of myocardial ischemia... as I’ve explained... to you... and her Majesty. With your priapic state, blood flow has been constantly diverted to your penis diminishing that to your heart. Passing out results. You are now conscious, flaccid with normal circulation restored after many weeks of a continuous state of tumescence,” a finger tapping the penis tip.
It is soft. To Robert such feels odd.
“The Queen is disappointed... as you can imagine... her symbol of authority now just another floppy male appendage. We can no longer keep you infused with tadafil, Mr. Probert. The next incident of myocardial ischemia could be life threatening. This brings the need for consideration. In being neither caged nor infibulated the symbol of authority is now a symbol of defiance. The matriarchy of Zolanda has rules, protocols for mambo ne uume to which males must subordinate. So in short, a decision... decisions... must be made as to what to do with you.”
Robert is alarmed, realizing that his status has plunged... no longer erect... no longer an extension of the Queen’s prominence... no longer her sceptre.
What is to become of him?
“I’ll have some videos for you to watch. Counter the boredom while you recover and we evaluate. Plus ensure your male esteem remains appropriately receptive to feminine supervision. I understand you’re becoming quite the cocksucker. We’ll start with one of you fellating the Queen’s castrate. Quite the energetic undertaking,” Dr. Humbert laughing, “trying to make her hard.”
The goggles alight. There comes a video of one of the many repetitive mornings of Robert undergoing the operant conditioning of Master Satana, a smiling Bozuma presenting his/her plundered male package, Robert orally obliging. It sickens noting his level of enthusiasm. He so much wanting to earn the few minutes of rest. Ah... to simply lie down, he justifies to himself.
An hour, more, Robert watches himself offer oral gratification... as best a castrated male can be gratified. There follow videos of him being worked on the treadmill, hands obediently placed to the back of his head, exhibiting odd pride as despite the level of exertion he remains erect for his supervising Masters. Then comes the whipping. Robert internally cringing as Master Sodoma plies her craft... so slowly... so methodically... so precisely... each snap excoriating within an inch of the previous welt.
The montage continues. Master Sodoma dons a strap on harness as his naked form leans over the bedroom stanchion. Master Satana stands before him, hands gently cradling his head. She also is naked, teasingly exhibiting herself for male eyes as Master Sodoma steps behind, gruffly parts his cheeks then thrusts to penetrate, finely muscled buttocks clenching to work his sphincter... in... out... in... out. He can see Master Satana mouth encouraging words, mocking. He can hear them in his head... that he is being fanny fucked... faux penis plunging. She points out his enjoyment... that the barometer of male lust, remaining untouched, is throbbing and oozing in celebration of ceding to feminine dominion.
It disturbs... yet it enthralls.
The montage ends. The tracheal tube is slipped away. If his words of humble thanks receive a reply, he knows not, the static in his ears continuing. He is fed... mush... but the taste is different... evidently reformulated sans tadafil. He suspects it is the caring hand of Miss Rwanda which tenderly feeds... mother to child.
A hand touches his penis, the shaft limp. Fingers guide the tip to the edge of a basin. He knows to empty himself... under feminine supervision... always under feminine supervision. There follows a sponge bath, Robert continuing to lie in darkness, hearing impaired, as each limb is released, caringly massaged, cleansed and returned to tight bondage.
There come concerns over his appearance. Normally after bathing, Bozuma fastidiously prettifies. He must look terrible... he tells himself... hair a mess with the headset strapped in place, makeup for certain smeared. Then he berates himself for such concerns.
Why does he care whether or not he appears feminized? What is happening to him?
He feels a hand fidget about his chest. It is then that Robert realizes something is attached. The sensors of an electro cardiogram. Dr. Humbert is monitoring his heart, logical after an episode of myocardial ischemia.
He must also assume there are cameras. Is he otherwise being watched... someone else in the room?
Activity ends. Apparently it is designated rest time, nothing touching, headset blank. Time for sleep... but first thought. What of his status? What is to happen to him? What of his decision to stay in Zolanda after his term of indenture ends? Flaccidity now medically mandated, he is useless as a symbol of the Queen’s authority. Will he be welcomed to stay? Oil flowing, will his knowledge of exploration and production remain of use?
I have published Part Three of 'Prominence'. This completes the published segments of the story.
https://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/prominence-part-three/ebook/product-q62qvvz.html?page=1&pageSize=4
44,850 words. $4.88
Look for a snippet on Saturday 1/18/25.
I will be posting on the blog vignettes featuring protagonist Robert... Roberta... Probert from time to time... also featuring his many antagonists.
Free stuff. Hope you enjoy. And comment!
CB
Completed manuscript to be published by early January 2025
Merry Christmas
Part Three - Servitude at Benchmark Oil
Operant Conditioning
Body completely healed, Robert Probert is amazed looking at himself in the floor to ceiling mirrors of the prison bedroom of his Masters. Intended to further erode his male psyche... finely made up, hair coifed by the Queen’s castrated servant Bozuma... his feminized reflection serves well the intention. And he finds there is not a hint... not a trace... of the cruel whipping of Master Sodoma.
She is masterful, Robert reminds himself, her whip hand that of a surgeon... inflicting such intense pain... without damage. Yes, after the morning routine, seated upright in bondage, psychologist Satana schedules quiet time for thought, Robert to mull over the who and what of his being, marveling at the effectiveness of his governance.
He is a woman, his mind repeats. Yet there is such contrast, the priapism continuing, the swollen tip of his erection jutting forth beneath a smooth, hairless and well made up face... lipstick, plucked eyebrows, mascara, eyeliner. It is bizarre... yet the conditioning brings acceptance.
And there is more. His masters have found growing delight in watching him reward Bozuma, paying oral homage... fellatio, empty scrotum laved, analingus.
Thus added to the morning regimen is more indoctrination, Robert to plunge further into his world of degradation.
“More operant conditioning, Mr. Probert... reward for desired behavior... punishment for undesired behavior,” Master Satana drawing from her learning, standing over the naked, bound and erect sceptre of the Queen.
Kneeling between his parted legs remains a smiling Bozuma. Beside Master Satana stands Master Sodoma. He is horrified to see in her hand the simple yet daunting strip of metal, slipped from the wall collection of torture devices.
“The behavior,” Master Satana lectures. “As you’re aware watching you service Bozuma greatly amuses. I am going to condition you to offer more. As a reward, for every minute your lips and tongue suck her penis, lick her scrotum, tongue her sphincter, you will be rewarded... five minutes lying down, thumb cords slackened. Refusal, undesired behavior, and it’s the heretics fork,” Master Sodoma holding up the medieval replica.
Robert’s heart leaps. His homophobia finds the deed abhorrent. Yet, to lie down! Conversely there is the threat... his mind jolted with the memory of the slowest most unrelenting torture endured.
“The fork... or do you wish to begin?”
Bozuma rises, presenting his/her tiny penis.
“An additional twenty minutes if you make her hard for us,” Master Sodoma adds, giggling like a school girl in knowing of the challenge.
Bozuma shuffles forth. Has Robert a choice but to engulf? He justifies to himself... who is ever to know? He has decided on a life of servitude in the matriarchy of Zolanda. What person with meaningful influence in the outside world will ever know he has been induced to suck cock?
Operant conditioning begins, Robert hearing Bzouma squeal in delight as his tongue works the vestigial male organ. Master Satana steps forth. In further encouragement, she tenderly pats Robert’s long locks, master to dog, then makes a point of gesturing to one of several cameras high in the corners of the room.
The reminder stuns. Robert’s internal question... who will know... is answered. His video archive of subjugation grows.
He for sure will have no place in the world other than Zolanda.
Monotony
Not summoned by her Majesty, the days of the Queen’s sceptre become repetitive. Mornings a magnificently nude Master Satana rises from a long night of love making, pushing the low stool between Robert’s outstretched legs. She sits, teasingly presenting her mons, remaining moist and fragrant. Robert’s heart pounds, straining against his bonds, working in eagerness as the tip of his tongue begins to cleanse. After moments of tantalizing, his Master slowly slides forth, permitting Robert to fully savor. Finally it becomes time to be toileted, Robert’s tongue slipping inward to find the urethral opening, lips pursing. In silence Master Satana empties, hands grasping his ears. Her opening and Robert’s lips become one. There is neatness, no words exchanged, Robert knowing what is expected, opening his throat, her flow going directly to his gullet.
There comes another pat to his head. Master Satana rises, sliding in place a basin for Robert to in turn empty himself, the humiliation of so performing while stiff never to waver.
Spoon fed the tadafil laden mush, Robert cannot recall when last he was permitted to use his hands, the Royal directive that all mambo ne uume rely on feminine supervision for sustenance extending to her Caucasian meketa as well.
Typically the feared Master Sodoma rises, also displaying her charms in full. As Robert is fed she showers. In exiting from her shower nudity flashes, smiling in noting Robert flinches whenever she glances his way, the cruel whipping never to leave his subconscious.
Exercise is next, Robert’s state of constant priapism requiring the stamina, circulation, and blood oxygen level of an Olympic athlete. Treadmill work is extensive, Master Sodoma supervising, her nearby presence bringing quite the incentive, short length of rattan in hand.
Thereafter, Bozuma arrives. Massage, sponge bath, and makeup follow, Robert learning that he is always to appear effeminate whether summoned for exhibition or simply wiling away the hours in bondage.
The morning activity ends with operant conditioning... the required oral adoration... fellatio, scrotal sac, anus, Master Satana tracking the time. Heretic’s fork withheld, for good behavior reward comes in mid afternoon, a gleeful Robert Probert permitted to lie down for the requisite minutes. Such munificence... the stress relieved!
He tries to bring Bozuma to full erection... earning Master Sodoma’s bonus of twenty minutes. His fervent efforts bring his Masters much amusement... yet most times he fails.
Within weeks of his whipping, Robert learns that oil has been struck, Master Satana reporting the strike at some twenty one hundred feet. Such excites, bringing gratification, his engineering prognostication accurate. Is he to once again visit the drilling site? What is the flow rate? Is the crude sweet or sour? Gas flowing as well? Natural gas liquids?
There is much upon which to advise.
“Tomorrow the Queen commands your presence,” Master Sodoma informs as she guides to the treadmill, “fully dressed... for the drilling site,” Robert knowing he will bear the high neck collar and restrictive anal hook enhancing the exhibition of his erection.
The words bring apprehension, to be once again exposed to his colleagues... former colleagues. Robert mollifies his concern, reminding himself that his former world is no more. There will be a lifetime of servitude to the Queen.... photos of his prettified and erect nakedness meaningless.
Leashed by his testicles as always, Master Sodoma begins the grueling morning workout, slowly working the dial to bring the rotating canvas to a challenging pace. Hands to his head, Robert’s circulation jumps, his breathing steady but heavy. And then it happens!