'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.

CB

*****

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.”