The Pink Tent - Yukon - Day Six
Despite knowing of the debaucherous scene within, foreman Margie Stenson pauses at the tent’s entrance, hearing Roberta’s many bells ringing in cadence with what are for sure brisk thrusts. She then flips back the folds of the pink tent, stepping in to see a kneeling Roberta Probert, head down, elbows to the thin mattress, thighs spread, back arched. Behind is Steve, one of a dozen roustabouts, butt fucking with vigor. Sheepishly, both look up. Caught in flagrante delicto, Margie smiles.
“Finish up, Steve. Got to get Roberta to the airport. The weather’s scheduled to be turning bad. So get yourself off.”
“I’m... I’m... sorry Margie,” Steve apologizing for the sordid scene.
“Not the first time I’ve seen guys going at it. Get it done and pull out.”
With that Margie steps forth, the embarrassment bringing both to freeze. She stands before the entwined duo, reaches out and sensuously palms Steve’s male breasts, then gently squeezes. Steve somatically thrusts then grunts, doubtlessly depositing his effluent.
“Good boy. Now get dressed. Roberta pack up your stuff.”
Steve’s humiliation is palpable, spurting at a woman’s behest... akin to a ruined orgasm. He’d otherwise express anger... but Margie Stenson is the boss. She leaves no doubt about that.
Steve dresses quickly and exits. Roberta remains kneeling on all fours, stunned to immobility.
“I miss watching boys going at it. At Kent they’d put on a show for me. Male submission to authority becomes ingrained when doing time,” a hand lowering to smooth over Roberta’s well coifed hair. “I’m going to miss you, Roberta. As will my boys. They all acclimated, homophobia vanquished. Isolation and building hormones will do that. Now get ready to roll to the airport.”
Roberta stands.
“May... ah... clean myself?”
Margie smiles mischievously, knowing Roberta’s colon is not only well greased but stuffed with jism.
“No. Take a memento with you to the airport. Maybe that cute flight attendant will assist. Come, it’s going to snow.”
“And... ah... you know...” Roberta’s dipping her head, gesturing to her pubes.
A clamped catheter tube dangles between her thighs.
Margie grins and shakes her head. Yes, the decision was made. Day four, Miss Margie inserted a catheter, the procedure simplified by the urethral tube of Roberta’s penis cage. Still, invading the prostate brought a lurch... and laughter... and for three days Roberta has felt deep within the slender length of rubber.
Making matters worse, Roberta, not able to reach the clamp, had to beg for relief, her bladder totally under feminine control.
“Step to the bucket.
Roberta obeys, Margie quickly releasing the clamp allowing Roberta’s bladder to empty.
“Good girl,” the compliment coming despite Roberta’s having no input into the process, bladder totally under Miss Margie’s auspices. “I’ll give the flight attendant the gadget to deflate the balloon. I’m sure she’ll help you if you ask nicely.”
Travel bag stuffed, much lighter, many tubes of unguent utilized, Miss Margie assures the sizable red anal insertion is to returned to Baton Rouge then clips in place the testicle leash. No hood, Roberta questions herself whether a blindfold would bring comfort. The drilling crew will see her led about naked by a governing women! The condemned are blindfolded, perhaps Miss Margie will accommodate.
“Blanket, Miss Margie, hood?”
“No. I’ve got the jeep running. Nice and warm. You’ll leave naked. And if you can’t see you can’t wave goodbye to my boys.”
The final ignominy.
Margie takes the travel bag in her free hand, tugging on the leash. Roberta yelps and follows, bells ringing.
“Those ridiculous heels are in the jeep. So don’t worry you’ll look stylish at the airport.... naked and in haute couture, ha, ha, ha.”
In stepping from the tent, for the first time in six days Roberta sees the sky. The countryside is green, a vast forest of evergreens, but the cloud cover is threatening. Winter comes early in the Yukon and with the temperature plummeting, Roberta senses her nipples crinkling, goose bumps covering her nakedness. She hears whistles and cat calls from the drilling rig some fifty yards in the distance. Wrists shackled, Roberta does her best to wave and acknowledge, finding herself smiling in odd satiation.
Yes, she is pleased with herself, being face fucked, fanny fucked, tongue swirling, taking a man’s effluent deep in her apertures.
What is happening to her?
Into the jeep, Roberta notes a towel on the seat as Margie unnecessarily ties off the leash then climbs aboard. Though no covering it is warm, for the past week Roberta sensing such only during the few hours when ‘recreating’ with a Benchmark Oil roustabout.
“You’re going to miss my boys. My inmates back at Kent would tell me the feel of a throbbing cock can be sort of addictive, ha, ha, ha. Guess feeling man spurting inside you is sort empowering,” Miss Margie making conversation as the jeep traverses a narrow rugged road, mud and holes filled with water. “Having him come for you, that you excite a man, can be gratifying. But Leona says you’ll be back on the road soon. Lots of drilling sites, lots of roustabouts, lots of cock, libidos to be addressed, hormones levels to be tempered.”
The jeep finally reaches the main road...the Dempster Highway 5. Gravel but for the most part relatively smooth.
“And I’m going to miss you, Roberta... for a few months. When you return, there will be construction crews, putting in a pipeline for the oil. You’ll be busy. Bring more lube on your next visit, ha, ha, ha.”
“I’ll miss you too, Miss Margie,” Roberta emotes, then immediately regretting her admission.
A hand leaves the steering wheel, fingers to the right nipple, gently rolling about the pink flesh. It feels controlling... and feels good.
“You need this, Roberta. I know boys like you. It fulfills a craving. You’re fortunate to have women like Leona and Harriet understand that.”
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