Saturday, December 12, 2020

'Surrendering Maleness', Segment Three

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

CB 

*****

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.     


2 comments:

Affina said...

Happy New Year Dear and Happy Holidays to you too.

Chris Bellows said...

Thank you Miss Affina.