Miss Leona Parsons Moves In
Roberta exits the basement learning of the commotion. Leona Parsons has entered with Major Domo 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”
