Saturday, June 25, 2022

'Maternal Care' Segment IV

“Feel good... nice and comfy?” 

The query comes in a soft childlike voice, Derrick’s new Nanny speaking as if to a toddler.

His nods, the warm soapy water most soothing as promised. Sitting upright in the huge bathtub contracted and specially installed by wife Margaret, arms secured behind his back, a kneeling Nanny dotes over him, assuring he sinks not into the deep water and helplessly drowns.

“You’ll feel some tingling,” arising and reaching behind to unhook the partial brassiere.

Baring herself from the waist up, Derrick finds himself salivating, the support of the removed garment’s half cups seeming superfluous, the glands firm, the glistening nipples continuing to invite.  

Such beauty! Such a lustful sight!

“There is a mild depilatory I mixed in the bath water. In a few weeks time it won’t be needed. You’ll be nice and smooth for me... everywhere. So don’t be alarmed when you’re defoliated. It’s the way I like my boys.”

Nanny returns to kneeling at tub side, chamois in hand. She begins to lave neck and shoulders. Should Derrick be alarmed as she gently wipes his checks and chin, bringing tingling and presumed hair removal where a man needs to appear as a man? 

“Please not on my face, Nanny.”

“Oh, I’ll be shaving you. But softening the follicles helps. Shaving will just be for your face. And in time that won’t be needed as well.”

As Derrick begins to object, Nanny’s free hand goes to her left breast, lifting from below, cupping to present the coated nipple.

“Good boys get a reward. Licky, licky... be gentle... no teeth. Bad boys get a trip to the dentist,” the words again childlike... yet so ominous.

Such temptation! Too long denied, Derrick cranes his neck, putting aside his concerns of hair removal. He opens his mouth and engulfs ravenously. Whatever the nectar... honey as suggested... the sweetness is offset by something pungent yet pleasant.

Nanny did mention an added ingredient... a very special ingredient. In savoring, should Derrick be concerned?

“Good boy,” Nanny coos. “Make it nice and clean and you’ll have another,” Nanny slightly rolling her shoulders to jiggle her right breast.

Shoulders swabbed, Nanny lowers her chamois hand, cleansing the chest, tantalizingly smoothing over pink male nubs. It feels so good!

“Did you enjoy being led about by your balls?” Nanny inquires in a playfully provocative tone.

Mouth filled with sentient feminine flesh, Derrick murmurs concurrence, quickly berating himself for not expressing male revulsion. Yet the hand, gripping lightly, felt good. Warm, controlling but for some reason indeed not objectionable. From the livingroom, up the stairs, down the hall, to the master bath, with arms and hands encumbered there could be no defiance, earning a stronger and more controlling grip... and possibly pain... excruciating pain... should there be need to bring capitulation. No Derrick obediently stepped behind.

Yes, soft, warm, convincing yet disconcertingly comfortable, Derrick followed Nanny’s hand... meekly followed. Yes, a woman led him about by his precious plums!

“These are important first steps Derrick... ceding to my authority. You’ll be better for it... help you transform to your new role. Your wife now controls the finances... you’ll not have a care in that regard... and I will control you. Everything will be just fine,” the words coming as the left hand slips from her left breast and reaches to present the right, sticky coating remaining. “You enjoy my concoction... the honey?”

Ingesting gleefully, Derrick again murmurs. He enjoys indeed... but it is more than the taste and the sense that he is pleasing. Something is happening. There is glee... inner peace... a weight is lifting... emotional. Though he sits bound, being treated as a child, there comes acceptance. He hungrily engulfs again, the right nipple of size beckoning, filling his mouth. He senses that he is no longer erect, the soothing hot water having its effect. Yet, there is something happening... not the physical sensation of pending orgasm... but feeling as though he has indeed had one.

The embarrassment.... the humility of being bathed like an infant matters not. Concerns of the humiliation fade. There is tranquility... a deservingly just end to a most daunting day.          

Then Derrick struggles to keep open his eyes. Slumber beckons. As the nipple is sucked clean, his latch releases, mouth opening, the breast dipping in retreat. Lastly he senses a very strong arm reach behind him, assuring he slumps not down into the water.

“You boys so much relish Nanny’s ketamine.”

Such words are not heard. Derrick enters another world... one of complacency, quiescence... and most importantly surrender.


Saturday, June 18, 2022

'Maternal Care' Segment III

 “You’re not obeying me. It is not good to ignore your Nanny,” the melodic, pleasant voice brings Derrick from his recollections.

Remaining both enraged and frustrated from the afternoon’s revelations, now learning his wife has left on an extended vacation... with men who ‘sing, dance and fuck all day and night’... greeted in his own home by a pretentious yet seemingly matronly woman, Derrick is mentally exhausted. He knows he should fight, resist, but mustering the mental energy is trying.

“I need a drink,” starting to step past the woman of determination.

His Nanny moves to block his path.

“You’re not obeying. And there is no alcohol. Your wife gave me directions... and the key to the wine cellar. It has a new lock and all spirits have been removed from the kitchen and diningroom,” Nanny’s arms going to fold about her chest in a stance of authority. 

The standoff of many moments finally ends, Nanny’s face turning to a smile of triumph, the resistence of Derrick Mason slowly ebbing. She knows this... Derrick realizes. She knows he is emotionally out of bullets.

“You’ve had a trying day, Derrick. Take off your clothes. I am here for you. I will bathe you... nice hot, soapy water. This is what I do. And if you’re a good boy I have something you very much like.”   

With that, the arms unfold, hands going to the front of the thick white cloth of Nanny’s blouse. Fingers curl at the vertical seam running from neck to her waist. The hands pull. To the sound of a rip, Derrick finds the blouse does not button, but instead the garment separates, Velcro binding easily yielding to reveal beneath a brassiere, partial cups supporting mammary glands of size and... in Derrick’s mind... exquisite proportion... nipples protruding forth in invitation.

“Yes, good boys get a reward,” Nanny smiling brightly. “You may taste your Nanny... but not when you’re clothed. And I have something that makes your Nanny taste very good.”

Right hand to the pocket of her skirt, Nanny retracts a small jar, making a show of slowly unscrewing the lid, letting Derrick stare in lust, ignoring as a finger dips into a gooey substance then goes to right nipple then left to libidinously coat sentient flesh of dark reddish-brown.

“You’ll come to very much enjoy suckling your Nanny. Honey... and a very special ingredient.”

An entranced Derrick steps forth, head lowering, lips approaching. Such an inspiring end to a day from hell.

“No, no. Your clothes. And I need to show you how to tether your wrists for me.”

Nanny steps back, sending a message of denial. But she also returns the jar to her pocket and removes her blouse. Derrick has not before seen such a bra, the partial cups making the glands jut forth in welcome... beseeching attention.

Any remaining feistiness further ebbs. A part of him suggests continued defiance. Such erodes quickly.

“No drink. Well, I guess a hot bath will be... ah... nice,” his tone one of agreement.

“I will make you clean... and presentable. And we’ll talk. I think there are many things you’d like to tell your Nanny.”        

Not having any idea of what that may be, Derrick reaches and loosens his tie.

“Good boy. When you enter the house, just leave all your clothing here on the chair. Folded neatly. Good boys, keep things neat for their Nanny,” the voice now coming as soothing, Derrick continuing to undress, mesmerized by the enticement of such beauteous, firm and attractive breasts.

The nipples glisten with the sticky substance, seeming to beg for oral caress... to be licked clean and suckled.  

Shoes, slacks, socks, shirt... there comes pause as Derrick stands before the woman in just undershorts. Penis engorging, he realizes that complete nudity will spur full erection.

“You’ll not be bathed in your underwear... and you’ll not suckle. And if you have a nice stiffy for me, I’m sure you’d like to show it to me. As I said Derrick, I have had many boys... many years... seen what they have for me.”

A ‘stiffy’. Derrick imagines the woman... Nanny... chuckling in having young males so priapicly react to a fully clothed woman, now condescending in presenting her glands in coaxing his cooperation.    

Slowly, Derrick drops his undershorts. As he steps out of his remaining garb, he sheepishly notes he is fully erect.

“All you boys so much enjoy showing off for your Nanny. Well we’ll take care of that. You’ll be showing off for me... but when and how I want... not when you want,” the words coming with a knowing chuckle.

Nanny steps to the table, picking up the strips of vinyl.

“Now I’m going to show you how to do this just once. Then you’ll be doing it every time you step through the door. House rules... your Nanny’s orders.”

Nanny encircles the right wrist, threading the tip of one end of the strip through the small opening of the opposing end.

“Now place the index finger of your left hand on your right wrist. Yes, good boy. I will tighten a little bit, then you lean and finish tightening, pulling the end with your teeth. Leave your finger in place.”

Derrick complies, lowering his head, opening his mouth then biting and pulling. The circle of vinyl tightens.

“Good boy. Now slip out your finger. Yes, see, tight but not cutting off your circulation... yet not to be slipped off. Now you do your left wrist for me,” handing Derrick the second strip.

As Derrick pauses in thought, the revelation coming that he is preparing himself to be bound, a meaty, soft and warm hand goes to his pubes, first cupping his scrotum then rising to briefly palpate his erection.

“You’re tiny here Derrick, as your wife explained to me. I can see why she wants to spend some time in the islands. The boys are big down there. A woman needs some deep penetration from time to time... some more than others, ha, ha, ha.”

Can there come words of protest? Denial? Refute his size? Not while standing naked and erect. There can be no countering his Nanny’s assessment of his four inches. Instead Derrick saddens.

“Don’t be gloomy, Derrick. Every boy has a role. You just won’t be pleasing your wife... not as she deserves to be pleased. Finish up. It’s bath time. I’m going to make you feel very good... and look good. Then you can suckle and I’ll feed you.”

The contrasting emotions distract. Derrick finds his hands and fingers working as instructed, encircling his left wrist, right index finger pressing, teeth pulling. He knows not where all this will lead. But there is an inclination to yield to this woman. The day has been one battle and then another. He surrenders, eyes once again going to large, reddish-brown inviting nipples.  

“Arms back.”

Seeming to be in a trance, Derrick complies, hearing a ‘click, click’ as a double ‘D’ clamp, coming from nowhere, binds together the cable ties about his wrists.

“Such a good boy. Such a nice stiff penis.”


Saturday, June 11, 2022

'Maternal Care' Segment II

“Good of you to stop in Derrick. You know Marilyn Hayes, representing your aunt’s estate. Since we’ve been talking, I felt it was easier for you to join us rather then packing up all the paper work and going to your office,” general counsel Liddy Kincaid gesturing to a chair at a small conference table strewn with documents.

As CEO of a multi million dollar corporation, Derrick indeed finds it a bit of a slight for him to go to her. Employees go to him.

“Not a problem. Got a text on my way back from lunch,” Derrick speaks in trying not to ogle the large breasted woman. Wife Margaret has always hassled him about the attributes he demands of female employees. His assistant of many years, Sophie Hazeltine, humorously chides him about it in private. And of course she is well proportioned at the chest as well. 

“We need to explain some things, Mr. Mason... mandated in your aunt’s will,” Marilyn Hayes getting right down to business. “About her eighty percent of the corporation.”

“Yes, of course.”

Derrick expects himself to be the beneficiary. He owns fifteen percent of the stock. Certain loyal, long time employees owning the remaining five percent. Having run the business for over ten years, being his aunt’s only blood relative, the bequeathment of his aunt’s eighty percent is about to be announced. He does his best to veil his excitement... much sacrifice over the many years... both financially and in swallowing much male pride. The woman was a tyrant.

“It’s going into a trust... your wife to be the trustee.”

“What!”

“Yes, along with a sizable amount of marketable securities and cash, details not to be disclosed to you,” Marilyn Hayes smug in her pronouncement.

“But... but... that’s not right. We’ve planned...”

“Yes, your wife mentioned that. Lots of spending over the years... no savings... relying on your aunt’s munificence at her demise. Well she had other thoughts.”

Derrick leans back in his chair. His salary has been comparatively modest over the years, leaving the corporation with as much cash flow as possible in order to grow... for his aunt’s benefit... and of course eventually his. His monthly pay check barely covers the mortgage and taxes on his mansion... purchased at a stretch under the urging of his wife. 

His hand goes to his forehead in duress. Marilyn and Liddy suppress laughter.

“Yes a surprise. Your aunt wanted to leave the stock directly to your wife. But I pointed out that in a community property state you’d be entitled to half and thus have voting control of the corporation. She did not want you to have control of anything.”

Financially neutered!

“The terms of the trust?” Derrick blurts in desperation.

“You’re not to know.... other than that your wife votes the shares... and pays herself trustee fees.”

“So Derrick, you’re now working for your wife,” Liddy gaily explains.

“And there’s more. I recommended a rights offering,” Marilyn continues, “raising money for the corporation. In order for your ownership not to be diluted you’ll need to contribute one and a half million dollars in order to keep your level of ownership at fifteen percent. If you don’t exercise your rights, the other shareholders, trust included, can acquire and utilize your unused rights.”

“But that would mean the corporation would be issuing some ten million dollars in stock. What are we to do with that much?” Derrick’s thoughts shifting from his personal predicament to that of CEO.

“You are not going to do anything with it. The corporation will be purchasing an aircraft... a sleek jet... for the new chairman of the board.” Liddy explains with glee.

“The new chairman?”

“Your wife.”

Yes, Derrick quickly realizes, Margaret Mason’s propensity to party... now to be fully manifested... jetting wherever a cocktail party beckons.

“What will I be left with?”

“No rights exercised... one and one half percent.”      

Derrick is apoplectic. In his dismay he looks to see both women sitting, shoulders back, prominently presenting mammary glands of size, seeming to subtly mock his penchant for large breasted women. In another time... another place... their combined actions would be interpreted as a sultry invitation... ‘come hither’. 

“Well we... I... don’t have the cash.”

“No cash... as expected. And you’re going to have a hard time raising it... based on your new salary.”

“New salary?”

“Half, Derrick. Keep in mind the jet will be expensive to maintain. And of course there are the fee’s to the trust... and the Chairman of the Board’s salary. Your wife’s going to need it. I understand there’s quite the mortgage on your home...”  

“I’ll be talking to my attorney. I’ll sue.”

“Before incurring substantial legal fees, Derrick... take some free counsel,” Marilyn Hayes advises in a smooth and calm voice, countering Derrick’s tone of exasperation. “Under Delaware law, the Chancery courts have ruled that legal action brought by shareholders of less than five percent are considered nuisance suits... readily dismissed.”

“We’re not in Delaware,” Derrick enjoying a ‘gotcha’ moment.

“No, but the business is incorporated there. A very business friendly state. Attack by an insignificant shareholder is viewed more or less as that of a pesky gnat. And you can’t remain as CEO and sue the company. So without a job and any income at all, think of the quality of the legal advice you’ll be able to afford.”  

More stunning revelation... how quickly and easily CEO Derrick Mason can find himself to be unemployed. He sits back in silent defeat.

“You’re dismissed Derrick,” general counsel Libby Kincaid summarily advises. “Marilyn and I have more things to talk about. You’re not needed. You may go home.”


Saturday, June 4, 2022

'Maternal Care' Segment I

I've been writing. Just not completing anything and therefore not posting.


As I senesce, I seem to get bored with my stories before completing. Much unfinished stuff  in my word processor.


I will finish this. Soft but Female Dominant/male submissive


Thank you for bearing with me.

Enjoy.

CB 

***************************************************

Maternal Care

Copyright 2022

by Chris Bellows

“Whoa... you... ah... surprised me!”

Derrick Mason steps past his front door entering the foyer of his modest mansion, not expecting a

guest or visitor. His shock quickly subsides in noting that the interloper is a woman of color,

hands on hips, her starched white uniform suggesting she is not a person of nefarious intent. In

placing his keys on a nearby table he notes two narrow strips of black vinyl. Putting aside the

momentary distraction he looks up to examine. The woman is tall, above his height of five foot

six, appears past her twenties... doubtful if she is in her fourth decade... very dark complexion,

broad shoulders, and a relatively narrow waist which visually enhances breasts of size, the

uniform doing little to cloak the woman’s shapeliness.


A shy smile... polite... comes to a handsome face of coal black, lips giving way to teeth of

gleaming white. With her silence, Derrick Mason quickly concludes she in turn is assessing him.


“Your wife arranged my stay... providing a key. I am your Nanny,” the woman finally speaks.


The words come in a clipped staccato, good English but not that of the United States. It is most

likely her second language.


“My Nanny? Ah... well... Margaret does have her pranks.”


“No prank, Mr. Mason... I shall call you Derrick. You’re to be under maternal care... here in the

home. It’s been arranged,” the pleasant smile giving way to a stern look as the words come with

gravity.


“Yes... we... of course. Just where is Margaret? I’ve had a rather trying day.”


“Your wife is traveling. I presume by now in flight... soon to be landing.”


Derrick is disturbed... not only the woman’s demeanor shifting to one of purpose and

determination... but this ‘Nanny’ unknown seems to know more about his wife than he does.


“Traveling where? She did not tell me.”


“You’ve spent a few hours with the attorneys today. I am sure you’re aware there will be

changes.”


More surprise, the woman knowing of his day.


“And if you must know, she told me she’s vacationing for an extended time on an island where

the local men are handsome and sing, dance and fuck all day and night. Her words not mine. I

refrain from such language.”


Derrick nods. That’s Margaret... always looking to party... always seeking new ‘acquaintances’...

always egging him to break out of his shell... which in her mind means overlooking her

escapades.


“Do you have a name? If you’re going to work for me I know not what to call you,” Derrick

diverting his thoughts from his wife’s unfaithfulness.


“Yes, it’s Nanny. And I don’t work for you, Derrick. I have been engaged by your wife and am

paid by the corporation... her corporation.”


The words bring Derrick Mason to bristle, thoughts reverting to his afternoon of aggravation...

hours with in house corporate counsel and an attorney for his late aunt’s estate.


“When entering the house from work, you’ll step in the door and disrobe for me... completely.

Those cable ties... the vinyl strips... are for your wrists. You’ll be bathed, fed then spend the

evening under maternal care until I dress you for work in the morning. There will be other

protocols which we’ll go over... but it begins with you presenting yourself nude, wrists tethered.”


Derrick Mason knows not whether to laugh or forcefully object, looking over the woman with a

discerning eye. Stunned, he remains silent.


“As you can see by my attire, I am a nurse... well trained... many years of handling boys. You’ll

come to relish my care. There will be rewards... and punishments... all resulting in obedience...

complete obedience,” the voice soft but firm and direct.


“And if I don’t? It’s... untoward... don’t you think? It’s my home... but being unclothed... with a

woman!”


“As I said, I am a nurse... nothing I have not seen nor handled before. Your wife is aware of the

details of my care. And I think the attorneys explained to you your precarious position...

financially.”


The woman...’Nanny’... knows too much!


“Details of your care?” Derrick cannot stop from asking.


“You’re to be under strict feminine authority... to be degraded... and humiliated. Your wife has

concluded it is best for you. Apparently planned in concert with your late aunt.”


A conspiracy! His mother’s sister never fully appreciated his hard work in managing the

corporation over the past ten years. Her attitude has been that she was stuck with him... and

perhaps she was. He has certainly been stuck with her... until her demise last month.


“Strip!”


With the sharp command Derrick, diverts his thoughts... to the afternoon meeting in the office of

general counsel... what he heretofore thought of as ‘his’ general counsel.

Saturday, January 29, 2022

'Sweeney & Alison', Segment V

The last posted segment, but lengthy.

See the January 2 posting for availability from Lulu.

Enjoy.

CB

*****

Using the building’s freight elevator whenever come the rare times to guide Sweeney outside his apartment, George unlocks and quickly leads the half naked pony girl into his capacious penthouse, gently tugging as always on the clitoral hood leash.

To the kitchen, George unclips the leash and merely points. In silence Sweeney knows to lower herself, first kneeling upright then bending, forehead to the floor. No words need be exchanged.

George moves to the refrigerator, extracting a large bowl of brown mush, scooping two large spoonfuls into a smaller bowl and placing such on the floor before Sweeney’s bowed head.

“May I use my hands someday George? Maybe sit at the table?”

“No. Your mental submission is as important as the physical Sweeney. You wouldn’t feel right. Now spread for me like a good girl.”

As Sweeney sloppily partakes, the simple fare appearing unappealing, smelling somewhat insalubrious but without taste and highly nutritious, George pulls up a chair behind, knees parted widely in response.

Fingers work the feminine portal, slipping past the stretched labia. The Ben wa balls are to be extracted.

“I hate those things, George.”

“You say that... but your cunny says otherwise,” George quips, always amazed at the abundant slickness brought by the clever spheres.

Fingers of the right hand find the lower ball, some one inch in diameter, freely bobbing about in a well stimulated love pouch. 

“Now try to relax, Sweeney. Your kegel muscles are amazingly well developed.”

George has always found it curious how receptive the birth canal is to the insertion, the larger upper ball introduced. It glides well within, the natural function of the vagina to hungrily suck it inward to the point the two inch sphere of smooth stainless steel resides close to the cervix. It’s the extrication that requires time and tender coaxing. So lower ball captured, he ever so gently pulls, hearing Sweeney cooing with the conflicting sensations of joy and distress. Attached together by a filament appearing to be fishing tackle, the upper ball begins to lower... one centimeter... two... pulling with it the larger. 

It stops, the kegel muscles defiantly tightening. A well experienced George knows to diddle the clitoris with the very tip of his left index finger. This brings delight, an increased flow of endorphins, and relaxation.

“Stop, Sweeney. I know you’re pulling against me. You say you hate your vaginal insertions, but you fight my fingers every time.”           

Cunny now dripping wet, George finally wins the battle, both slick Ben wa balls dropping to his left palm.

As Sweeney finishes her gruel, George plops the steel balls into a pot... to be boiled and sanitized in the morning. He notes that even his jaded nose detects the strong vaginal fragrance as he returns to the kitchen chair basin in hand.

“You need to piss for me,” Sweeney knowing the words to be more of a command then suggestion.

George leans. In grasping right labia and left, he cannot help but think of fiancĂ© Jennifer’s acuminous presumption.... that indeed his steed needs assistance with the most basic of bodily functions. He parts, pulling aside the long strips, splaying open such that the girl’s urethral opening is not encumbered.

Thought of as defiling by Jenn, George considers his assistance an act of devotion, assuring neatness in what would otherwise be a messy deed. And of course Sweeney relishes her Master’s touch... such intimacy.

There comes a strong and steady flow, Sweeney indeed in need. In completing George steps away basin in hand to dispose. In returning he lowers his hand, a finger hooking the heavily gauged nose ring, tenderly pulling to signal his steed to stand.

“Aren’t you going to wipe me?” the tone sultry and inviting.

“No. I know how much you enjoy, Sweeney. But it’s shower time. Come.” 

To the master bedroom, the adjoining bathroom is large, George having connected the space to an adjoining bedroom. Thus it’s more locker and exercise room than merely for ablutions.     

Stepping by the treadmill and wooden horse, George turns back, his hand holding high the nose ring, face pointed to the ceiling. Sweeney knows to obediently prance for him on toes. By rote her mind goes into pony girl space, imagining herself presented to judges at an exhibiting event... perhaps being led to the starting line for a race. 

To the shower. It is not a stall. Instead it is an open area, well drained floor, plumbing fixtures above, and a dangling cord with hook for the nose ring.

“Goods girls get a nice warm shower and scrubbing. Have you been a good girl, Sweeney?”

“Oh yes George. I showed myself for you tonight... at least your in laws seemed to be impressed. Your mother-in-law fondling... a sister- in-law infatuated with my tits... and a brother-in-law who wants to fuck me.”

“But not my bride. And Doug will not fuck you. That manner of vaginal penetration is forbidden. He wants to sodomize you... take you anally.”

George knows how much warm soapiness is relished... versus a quick frigid spray for bad girls. There is also the prospect of releasing the arms... never both at the same time. But the sense of relief can be ecstatic, Sweeney always reminding that good bathing includes the underarms.

“My arms sir,” George expecting the plea... such always coming with the obsequious form of address. 

The nose ring is secured, cord tightened, Sweeney remaining on toes. A spreader bar waits on the wall. Secured to the thigh bands, Sweeney’s knees are held widely apart, bringing more stress to standing on toes, the elongated labia freely dangling.

A picture of subjugation, George notes, stepping to take in hand the spray hose. And she so much enjoys! 

George always finds thrill as well, despite the many years of care. There is not one square centimeter of feminine flesh not exposed... not to be subjected to his examining, palpating fingers and hands.

He looks to see the lengthy nipples begin to crinkle and harden, jutting forth invitingly, once again turning to tiny spears. She so much cherishes his touch.

Valve turned, water temperature adjusted, an evening cleansing begins. If only the beautiful Jennifer O’Malley could bring herself on board... join him in his supreme dominion.

George adjusts the nozzle to offer soft spray, the water hot but soothing. The body of firm golden brown is doused. Sweeney hums in comfort. Then the flow is turned off, George dons rubber gloves, a large jar of strong smelling chemicals is opened. As he coats his hands, Sweeney detects the odor.

“Please no, George. There is no hair... it’s gone.” 

“And it will stay gone. I realize... and you must begin to realize also... that depilating your entire body is more symbolic at this point. That I can do with your nakedness anything I want to do. Deep within it excites you.” 

“But it stings.”

“More thrill for you. Now close your eyes,” the advisement coming as the hands begin to slather the odorous white ointment, starting high on the head, working down, neck, shoulders, back, breasts, stomach, thighs, legs.

“Please be careful,” the beseeching words coming as George steps to the front, stooping to assure the pubes area is well coated.

There come moans and groans... the sting... George knowing such overwhelms in being felt within every pore of her nakedness. It is unlike the suffering brought by a quick snap of the crop or quirt. It is consuming... lasting... continuous... only to end under the whim of her Master. When he pushes a coated hand under the bent right arm, there comes a strident shriek, the under arms sensitive. Another comes in coating the left.  

Body coated, George steps back, smiling in seeing the spectacularly shaped form squirm and writhe with the building agony. She enjoys in so submitting all to him. 

The gloves are rinsed then removed. George mentally counts... delay... delay... delay. Finally the squirming becomes paroxysmal, stressing the nose ring, doubling the pain and endangering the skewered nose cartilage. The valve is again turned. A warm rinsing is most welcomed... head to toes.

“Thank you, thank you,” the gratitude most sincere as the underarms are rinsed.

There follows soap, a soft chamois. Head and shoulders, George swathes over the breasts, the mounds prepubescently limited, the nipples remaining hardened. There is gentleness, the chamois grazing over treasured bronze flesh... smooth... warm... without blemish. To the pubes, Sweeney presses forth her hips, her concupiscence apparent. George circles about. Buttocks of stone, developed over the years of serving in harness... mile after mile on the treadmill. He steps back gazing... in awe... in admiration. Such power... such subjugated power.

He leans... the thighs, reaching about to lather the front. Further leaning, the calves are soaped. There comes a yelp as he lifts the right foot, the weight shifting to momentarily stress the nose ring. Completed, left foot is cleansed and returned to the floor tiling. Sweeney hums in satiation as George steps back taking in the idyllic vision... white suds adorning bare skin of golden brown, 

There is pride in ownership.  

“My arms sir?” again the form of address expressing desperate desire.

“Did I not clean under your arms recently?

“Yes sir. But it feels so good.”

George ignores for now. Returning to the front, the fingers of a left hand pushes about the clitoral hood chain the chamois swabbing the lower belly, left then right. Next the thigh bands left and right are slipped upwards as the chamois cleanses the flesh beneath. Finally a gracious George concedes, stepping behind, fingers of the left hand releasing the simple but oh so significant clasp securing the thumb ring of the left hand from the steel neck collar.

Sweeney knows to go limp, allowing Master George to unfurl her folded arm, guiding straight to the side and swabbing arm and armpit. To resist, defiantly move her arm under her own volition brings rebuke... meaning many weeks without release, of continuous binding, cramping ignored. 

Left arm cleansed, the limb is resecured and the right arm is treated to equivalent momentary relief. Such is evanescent yet so welcomed. 

Entire nakedness soaped and swabbed, George pauses. Sweeney stills herself. She knows to be silent as Master George enjoys his quiet dominion. Finally, the spray hose is turned on and a must soothing warm rinse follows.

Water off, a huge fluffy towel begins to slowly and sensuously dry, playfully cradling the bald head then moving down... shoulders, back, breasts, pudendum, buttocks, thighs, calves. Placing the damp towel on the tiling, Sweeney knows to move feet, stepping to dry her soles.

It is a twice daily ritual, to be repeated after tomorrow morning’s extensive exercise.

“Thank you sir. Are you going to masturbate me?”

“You should not ask, Sweeney. You know that comes only at my caprice. I’m in charge of every aspect of your care... and you’re well cared for. But some body oil. Would you like that?”

“Everywhere sir?” the formal manner of address again hinting at her need

“You are randy this evening, Sweeney. Being exhibited excites.”

“It’s been a while... since you’ve shown me.”

“Yes. But those contest days are over, Sweeney. You’re still beautiful in your naked subservience... remaining well conditioned... but exhibitions are for the young ponies. And you’ve won your share of prizes... and been rewarded.”

“Yes, the stimulator. How old am I George?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. But I’m nearing thirty and been training and caring for you for more than fifteen years.”

“So I’m fifteen.”

“No silly girl. Mother acquired you as a girl. It was enlightening, to bathe you as you went through puberty.”

“You liked touching me.”

“Still do,” George reaching for a bottle of mineral oil. 

Lubricating his hands he recalls preparing Sweeney for shows, bringing a sheen to her perfect skin, the golden brown glistening, for sure attracting the judges eyes. Objectification, George was to later in life learn of the paraphilia. And an aroused pony girl Sweeney responded when displayed at events, her fragrance evident... just as it was with mother O’Malley in presenting her naked form on the living room coffee table.    

Loving hands begin, smoothing the unguent from head to toe, salaciously kneading the breasts, playfully tugging at the long nipples. Stepping to rear the buttocks receive more brusque attention, hands grasping thick tufts of flesh, rubbing vigorously, sensing the potency of muscling developed with extensive training... years of pulling in harness... hour after hour of treadmill time.... much sweat... the slow agony of riding the wooden horse bringing the shapeliness demanded of comely pony girls.

The left hand splays the cheeks. The fingers of the right graze about within the gluteal cleft. One finger then two slip into the rear portal bringing a gasp of delight.

“Your thumb Master...” for Sweeney the precursor to masturbation... the method of bringing pony girl ecstasy regimented but oh so welcome.

“No, not tonight. Perhaps a little clitoral stimulation. You’ll sleep better.”

“Oh, George you know that drives me crazy. I need a full orgasm.”

“You’ll not have it,” hands slipping from the well lubricated posterior. 

George steps to the front. He notes the scent of the mineral oil does little to mask the fragrance of his pony girl’s arousal. Face forced to the ceiling, Sweeney does her best to make eye contact, her facial expression one of beseeching.

“Just a little stimulation for you, Sweeney. You’ve been a good girl.”

“But I need more than a little, Master. I sucked your penis...”

“And you enjoyed that as much as I.”

The words come as knowing hands work the heated folds of the labia, pushing the extended lips aside, a single digit of the left hand sliding within the vagina, hooking upwards to knead the urethral sponge. Sweeney sighs with the unwanted delight. The right hand goes to the slim chain of the clitoral hood piercing, jostling teasingly. Then there comes a shriek of joy as the tip of the right index finger works under the stimulated hood and finds the enormous feminine bud, slowly circling about in ever so lightly grazing.

George has had training of his own, a mother knowing how to reward pony girls, teaching him at a young age the complicated and ever so sensitive parts of the female anatomy... clitoris, bulbospongiosus, urethral opening, vagina... even learning that the perineum can be an erogenous zone. And of course manipulating deep within, a special stimulating device for the anterior fornix.

‘You can make a girl squirt for you, George,’ Sweeney’s Master recalls his mother instructing.

And he did... and does... but not tonight.

Just a moment or two of tantalizing finger work... no orgasm of course. Just enough to bed the girl and leave her wanting more.

She’ll be pulling at her arm and hand bindings all night, wanting so much to play with herself... yet only face denial.

“Please George.”

“I’ll stop.”

“No more fingering... penetration please... use the stimulator...”

“No,” the fingers withdrawing. “Full orgasms tire you... and you’ll need your energy. I’ll want you riding the horse tomorrow... plugged. Open you for my future brother-in-law.”


Saturday, January 22, 2022

'Sweeney & Alison, Segment IV

Returned to darkness, forced to silence while the lovers bicker, the exchange brings to mind pony girl Sweeney’s early encounters with Master George, the matriarch of the family farm turning her care, training... and even the needed knowledge of language... over to her son... now beloved Master.

She owes him everything, her reliance on her Master complete. 

She smiles in thinking of bride-to-be Jennifer’s indignation in concluding... correctly... that Master George must assist with toilet duties. Arms and hands bound shortly after arrival at the farm, there early came a curious bond in having her cunny and anus subjected to a boy’s care. Her exposure and vulnerability were brought to a maximum.... and remains such... now unobjectionable. And with the total reliance came fondness. The sordid act of having her gluteal cleft wiped and cleansed has come to bring not so much a thrill but a sense of satiation... that in the mind of her owner only for a treasured living relic would such a deed be performed.       

Putting aside the efforts of her enthusiastic tongue and lips, dare Master George ever divulge the progression of the bonding... well worked pony girl and attentive owner?

She cannot recall the very first time she was masturbated for an exemplary performance. But the reward came to be... and continues to be... a narcotic for which she would... will... gleefully trade her abject obeisance.

Perhaps tonight?

She’s been good, she tells herself, remaining silent, allowing herself to be examined most intimately without word or gesture of objection, not a hint of her jealousy for the woman who may meddle her Master’s care... break their bond.

It would be too much to image that Master George may have brought the stimulator and lip stretchers... that he would show his in laws the ignominious manner in with his pony girl is brought to ecstasy... how her staunch allegiance is assured.

As humiliating as it would be, Ben wa balls beginning her concupiscence, then being fingered, objectified, nipples and labia fondled, there is need, her masochism inflamed. She will further exhibit herself... beg... open herself... squeal with ecstasy... and ultimately squirt... demonstrating that her thigh bands are for more than hobbling. 

Voices from the dining room divert her thoughts. There comes light laughter, Master George apparently extricating himself from the wrath of a scornful fiancĂ©, mother O’Malley most likely smoothing things, her fascination with Master George’s equine pursuits apparent.

Then comes the sound of chairs moving, dishes and glassware rattling. Lemonade and pie consumed, she hears Master George and a male voice which must be brother Doug talking nearby. Next she feels the hobbling double ‘D’ clamp removed and her clitoral hood leash snapped in place.   

“Good girl. Time to go. Step down carefully.”

“The stimulator, Master?” daring to whisper.

“Not here, naughty girl. But it’s telling you so wanted to be spread open for them.”

*****

“How do you think it went, sir?”

“We’re alone now, Sweeney. It’s George again,” guiding the car back onto the interstate. “It appears I kissed my sister... in terms of having the family recognize you as a needed servant.”

“What does that mean sir... ah... George?”

“An old saying... I was fortunate to get a kiss... but the affection was from someone with whom I cannot have familiar relations... my future mother-in-law. And no discernible progress in terms of having you continue to be harnessed and run with Jenn’s blessing... after marriage.”

As come the words, pony girl Sweeney leans in the passenger seat, face to George’s crotch, lips opening, teeth working to find the tab to his zipper.

“May I suck your penis?” the quest muffled by the cloth of the trousers.

“That’s exactly what needs to stop, Sweeney. I’m going to need... well... what manliness I have will be to please my wife. So no... stop.”

With his demand, George thinks of both the talent and the determination for a girl to hone the skill of initiating fellatio without the use of hands and fingers. So many years of endeavoring to please...

“I’m sorry, George. But you know how much I’ve come to relish pleasing you... and tasting you.”

“You just want to be spread open and feel the stimulator... be masturbated... like in front of Jenn’s family.”

“I was aroused George. Leashed... with my cunny stuffed. I can feel the Ben wa balls now... the motion of the car. It drives a girl mad.”

“As intended. But there’s another element, Sweeney. Your ingrained masochism... which I have so attentively accommodated over the years. You went through the loop this evening. Thank heaven I did not have the stimulator and the lip spreaders... I would have been tempted.”

“The loop?”

“With your warped psyche, the humiliation of posing naked and bound leads to arousal. And in realizing that your arousal is apparent... the scent of your cunny filling the room air... there comes more humiliation... which of course enhances your state of arousal.”

“You know so much, George... know me. I’m shamed to think it was so... obvious.”

The right hand leaves the steering wheel, arm reaching, fingers searching beneath the cape to find a well stretched left nipple, sensuously rolling about. There comes more redolence, Sweeney’s arousal restored, the closed interior of the car making such evident even to a nose jaded by the constant denial of feminine hygiene.   

“But I think Jennifer’s mother would have enjoyed,” Sweeney’s brazen advisement pressing her role. 

“That is an aspect of the family relationship to which I must give renewed thought. I agree. She certainly had no compunction in fondling your cunny.”

“If you wish to further stretch me, George, consider having her watch,” the tone of words coming as a sultry invitation.

“I’ll stretch you when and where I choose. That being said, sister Alison asked a lot of questions over lemonade and apple pie. She seemed mesmerized... curious as to how it felt being in bondage all the time... subjected to modifications... made to run under the crop... walked about with vaginal insertions, and be put on display. Your bound nakedness seemed to enthrall, Sweeney. I must wonder... first if she became aroused... like you... and second, if aroused  from what angle was her apparent interest stirred.”   

“Not sure what you mean, George.”

“She was fantasizing... about binding a girl... or being bound. Was she feeling the sting of a riding crop while run about naked?”

“I see.”

“And by the way, speaking of fantasizing, brother Doug wants you.” 

“I offered to suck his penis.”

“No. He wants to take you anally. I told him you’re quite tight... and quite skilled... and quite receptive.”

“But I’m not. I’m too tight. Do his mother and sisters know?”

“We’ll work on opening you... again. And of course they don’t know... won’t know. It will be between us guys. And he’ll help in gaining Jenn’s concession... to owning a human beast of burden. One who will take care of my in laws.”

“But I’m not a beast... and whatever could be the burden?” Sweeney’s face returning to George’s lap... teeth and lips to now work the zipper without objection.     


Sunday, January 16, 2022

A Rant of My Own


Readers ask why my Lulu stuff is not available through Amazon and other commercial channels.  (When I publish on Lulu I deliberately choose not to obtain an ISBN to specifically preclude such sales.) Well, to explain see below. While surfing Goodreads (which I do from time to time to get a feel for what people are reading and get a flavor for author's writing styles) I came across this review of 'The Predator', a Female Dominant story I wrote many years ago.

A reviewer named 'Zofia' not only panned the story, she took the time to rant with a 900+ word lecture.

She should not be reading my stuff. And if she does not enjoy non consensual D/s she should put the story down and move onward... not lecturing.

To me it's like reading a murder mystery and, in a state of shock about the macabre, writing a scathing review because someone in the story gets killed. 

A simpler solution... don't read murder mysteries! 

BTW, 'The Predator' takes place in the 1800's, and what some of the Indian tribes did to captured settlers is documented history. 

So 'Zofia', a warning, Chris Bellows stories rarely have what you would consider to be a HEA. And consensual D/s?.. try finding a 'consensual' murder mystery.


*****

I BOUGHT this book because of the rating given on this site, and it was simply quite… AWFUL. I honestly have no idea who could be rating these so-called femdom ‘books’ and, giving them a high rating but don't write a review, is it friends of the author? One has to wonder – but it really needs to be stopped. These so called novels need to have a forewarning and re-labelling/labelling “written by enthusiastic MISANDRY minded people” and come with a warning that the male characters are mutilated without their consent by women who thoroughly enjoyed prolonging their pain by slowly cutting them and changing their sex by removing these guys genitalia and, without any aesthetic I might add – it’s not BDSM book it’s horror story from start to finish written from I can only describe as a very disturbed mind.

There is no genuine compassionate/affectionate bond between both parties; it is a totally one-sided relationship were the ‘slave’ can be disposed of without a care in the world when the dominatrix has got bored or wants a ‘new toy/pet’. I always thought the meaning of a Dom or Dominatrix was a person, male or female who has ‘the power or control’ over his or her partner in a sexual relationship. Because a true Dom or Dominatrix has been entrusted by the sub or slave to ensure that everything they devise for their partner or participant will give them the sexual liberation they need and, not be handled with a Dominatrix that is a severely deep-seated misandristic and, has a total revulsion for their partner/participants sexual needs or orientation.
I enjoy reading and, have read many, many BDSM novels, and out of all the femdom ones, I have to say, sadly, that out of all of them, I have only read, probably 2 genuinely good femdom novels to date. In both those novels the lead protagonists ACTUALLY like men! Can you believe that? Actually having a preference for the opposite sex and THEY ARE NOT MISANDRISTIC minded women in the slightest. Yes, they were in control of their men but that's the whole point isn't it when being the Dominant? Being a Dominant means one has to be able control oneself first, to be able to control of not going too far and, to be always aware, and of how far to push their sub. They don't want to mutilate/remove the parts they enjoyed putting through paces, with the usual teasing/tormenting etc. Seriously, what would be the point of removing that part? That’s all part and parcel of the collective. Otherwise they might as well just cut to the chase and have a relationship with a woman as that’s what their ultimate preference for is, isn’t it?
One has to concluded from what these particular femdoms writers is, THEY ACTUALLY ARE MISANDRISTIC because for a Dominatrix whose only mind set is to enthusiastically, gleefully, scheme, plot ways to lure and entrap a trusting, subservient man with the sole intent to turn him in to a woman without his forewarned knowledge and to find the whole process thrilling to destroy a mans body and mind, well, there must be something wrong ‘upstairs’ for that Dominant, and FYI? If a bloke wanted to be a woman he'd go see his doc and get the ball rolling & be COUNSELLED FOR AGES to make sure that's what they really want.
Reading some of these novels by these so-called femdoms, one SERIOUSLY wonders if they themselves need counselling. It is quite clear that they write with total abandon about the systematic, sometimes fast, sometimes slow but ALWAYS excruciating painful, permanent, irreversible removal of their genitalia like they’ve just done other women and the guy a massive favour.
In this particular book, a very young man (going by the admission of the main female character in the storyline description when he was captured by the lead character and changed by someone who was training to be a doctor in the past that, when he was still little more boy than a young man) has his dick stitched/welded to his stomach and his balls removed! You’ve got to wonder what kind of a person could write about doing that to a kid! What happens to the second young man is equally as bad if not worse and, I honestly can’t be bothered to mention it was nothing short of being described as sick. This is so NOT a femdom book, it’s more of a nightmare-horror story from a depraved mind. And, if any would-be submissives were, interested in to taking the next step into ‘becoming a slave’ previously read these horror stories going under the pretence name of femdom, they would change their minds. These types of femdom books should all be made to carry a warning for those under the misapprehension that these are real BDSM novels, and they should be labelled “warning, these books are written by MISANDRISTIC minded people” because the only feeling one has when reading this novel is the pure dislike the lead character has of men, in point of fact, she practically says as much, several times through the horror story. I am sure there are misandristic women out there that enjoy these types of novels and labelling them as such would probably help them in choosing a book for some light reading but personally, I know for sure I would not buy a book that was labelled ‘ideal for the MISANDRISTIC’, because if you’ll excuse the pun, it just doesn’t cut it for me.
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