Books

If I may take the liberty of stepping away from the fiction, if you are enjoying the story(ies) please keep in mind there is much more available at Pink Flamingo and Lulu as noted (links to the left).

If you are seeking a specific genre drop me a note (chris_bellows@hotmail.com). Chances are I have either incorporated it into a story or I have read of it somewhere.

That said, my male on male stuff is limited... we all have foibles...

Chapter Twenty Three - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Three

Returning to the hut, 322 is unhitched and relieved of his sling. It is curious how much effort is required to pull his balls back through the slit, the perspiration soaked leather having shrunk and tightly compressed his scrotal sac. The anal plug exits with a slight plop and Midori accommodates the overly sensitive penis by pulling away the sling with barely a touch.

Brank and leash remaining in place, he is led to the rear where the tethering pole awaits. He knows to kneel and Midori clips his ankle bands to the horizontal plank one foot above the ground then ties off the leash high above to secure him in the awkward kneeling position... that in which he will ‘break’.

“Just a few hours... make you eager to serve... bring more humbleness. Think about being led about naked, 322... and leashed... and by girl of some one hundred pounds. Think how well a boy like you fits in here in Chessu... how you so nicely stiffen for me.”

Donning the brank for so many hours, walked for many miles, pulling a ponderous load of ore, 332 needs rest. But he shall not have it until Miss Midori decides.

A basin is placed before him, Midori directs his penis using the Prince Albert ring. 322 knows to empty himself. When finished Midori returns to the hut. Within moments the odor of cooking suggests she is preparing dinner and the smell brings 322 to recall that he has not tasted normal food in weeks. Then it dawns, in Chessu he has not tasted anything... except women!

Struggling to stay balanced, 322 eventually begins to whimper, the brank otherwise silencing outright verbal pleas for mercy. His weight is born by knees which press into the hard, coarse soil. His well drained muscles continue to exert, keeping him upright, the intensity of the agony in toppling not to be imagined. His wrists remain secured behind his back at the shoulder blades. The cramping comes and goes, throughout the day ameliorated by twisting about and pulling against his bonds to relieve the arm muscles. But now, in being so precariously tethered he must be heedful. Sudden motion, a shift in balance, and he will be dangling by the brank, his mouth and tongue bearing much of his weight.

Yes, as Midori suggested, she keeps her beast stressed, the slow, seemingly unending implementation of her control bringing great mental duress.

Midori exits the hut. 322's murmurs for mercy shift to outright muffled shouts.

“Oh come now 322, you just have to kneel for me and accept the pain. You may plead all you like, but I will decide when you will lie.”

The nose is pinched closed. When 322, opens his mouth to draw air, the extended rubber tip of a feeding canister is thrust into his mouth and forced down his throat. Midori presses the bottom disk. 322 is not so much fed as he is injected with Chessu’s processed sustenance for beasts... putrefied garbage.

“Tonight I will begin to mark you. Exhaustion is best. You will strain less against your bonds. And you will be nice to Tamora, my beast. She has needs and has not yet been bestowed with a beast of her own.”

322 feels sludge slowly filling his stomach. It is a horrible sensation being so fed, some foul substance being pressed directly into his gullet. But it is what keeps him alive... so he can work... so he can serve.

The canister finally empties. As the tube is slipped away a kindly hand smooths over 322's grommeted right cheek then lowers to playfully tweak a nipple. He feels his penis twitch with the simple act of kindness.

“These male nubs will become more and more sensitive as your state of chastity extends, my beast. They will become your only source of pleasure.”

322 must agree and finds great disappointment as Midori steps away to return to the hut. Pausing at the doorway she turns and notes his erection. Despite the discomfort... despite the mental duress... despite the exertion of straining to remain balanced... her beast performs for her, his penis continuing to rise. He is instilled with the need to please. She has observed so many beasts conditioned for servitude, for abject ownership. 322 has no chance, no ability to resist.

In Chessu women rule... supremely... completely. And there are those, such as 384322 born to be ruled.

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

Tears stream, 322 cautiously wrenching his head to fling annoying droplets which have dribbled to his chin. The lesson... cruelty... callousness... complete disregard... is imparted so slowly... but well received. Lapidary... chiseled into his mind... his soul... the women of Chessu are without compassion for the servile male.

322 hears the rattle of plates and the soft feminine voices of prandial conversation. Tamora has arrived. There comes an occasional giggle, the heartless women... girls really... casually dining as he suffers endlessly. In darkness, a silhouette comes to the rear doorway of the hut, pauses and giggles anew.

“He’s crying, Midori. He knows not to waste water here in Chessu.”

Shamed, blubbering indeed in the presence of a girl, all manly pride obliterated, 322 murmurs more pleas. Tamora smiles and approaches. 322's heart leaps in anticipating aid. For the tormented, the dim light from the hut offers an invigorating view of her feminine charms.

Small soft hands grasp his leash, releasing it from above.

“Midori has suggested it may be time.”

‘He is to lie down!’ his thoughts racing. And indeed Tamora gently guides him to lean forward. But then her directing hand stops as she steps forth, pressing his forcibly extended tongue to the soft, warm, pink flesh of her mons.

“Drink!” comes the unlikely firm command, the lithe and youthful girl as accustomed to handling a well restrained male beast as all the other women in Chessu.

The scent of her portal, so better acceptable than that of the mine worker, fills his nostrils. The thumb and forefinger of her left hand, in a motion so well practiced by all, splay her labia. Expecting mercy, 322 is instead to perform the demeaning ritual of imbibing her nectar. Branked, his throat is an open drain. Her flow begins and the pungent saltiness, that and vaginal essence the only substances offering taste, streams with vigor.

At such a young age, it is apparent that Tamora has so frequently watered the subjugated male. She smiles wickedly as her bladder empties almost directly into 322's stomach.

“He’s learning well, Midori.”

Brank in place, he cannot offer to cleanse, his tongue immobile. Perhaps... just perhaps... Tamora will release him from the horrible restraining implement. So he is heartened when her stream curtails and she offers.

“Tonight you are to be marked. But before the agony of the hot knife brings unconsciousness, perhaps we can offer each other a kindness. I have a special need. And boys like you need to satiate special needs. It is why you have been selected for servitude in Chessu.”

322 listens attentively. It is obvious the young girl is not to disregarded.

“If I remove the brank, let you lie, you will accommodate?”

322 nods as best he can, uttering the word ‘please’, gurgled and indiscernible, offered as he assumes he will be cleansing her with his tongue.

As the leash is removed and the brank slipped to the side, the tears of agony change to tears of joy.

Tamora’s slight hands then slowly lower 322's torso to the desert floor. His penis greets the rough soil, the super sensitivity instantly sending renewed signals of pain. He grunts.

Tamora smiles, steps to the hut and returns with the small patch of silk which brings comfort, and a blanket.

“You will lick,” she directs, mercifully pushing the silk beneath his hips.

Chapter Twenty Two - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Two

The uniformed woman sits at a wooden table and counts out small pieces of paper as Midori stands nearby, her left hand tightly holding the leash. Her fingers grip near the ‘Y’, some two to three inches from 322's protruding tongue. This forces his head down, bending at the waist and mandating complete immobility as Midori’s free right playfully strokes his cheek, petting her beast, a token of appreciation for a long day’s labor.

322 strains to take in his surroundings. The airstrip is nothing more that a smoother, straighter and wider length of desert soil, otherwise appearing much like the rudimentary roads he has navigated. The ore was unloaded by women of power and strength, once again their ethnicity suggesting migratory workers, as at the mine. During the wait, unseen behind him, a gruff hand occasionally palpated his well exposed and entrapped scrotum, eliciting some crass laughter as the rough fingers caused him to lurch in his bonds.

“Nicely stretched,” came one comment, with a smiling Midori nodding agreement.

Within minutes the heavy rock was placed into rolling bins, the fruit of 322's labor to be flown out with the next flight.

His attention returning to the table, the care in counting is noted and it becomes apparent that the small stack of crudely printed notes are script, the currency of the realm.

“600 pounds, Midori. He cannot earn enough for his swill with a load so small.”

“He’s new. I will be working him harder as his muscling improves.”

“And he needs to be marked,” the woman of authority more than suggests.

The script is offered, Midori graciously accepts and as she fans the stack to quickly assure a good count, the hand of the uniformed woman lowers, turns palm upwards and cups her mons. The blatant grope surprises 322 and he watches as the woman gently kneads and massages.

“The Emperor is scheduled to be milked on Sunday, Midori. You’ll be at the palace to watch?”

Midori smiles, offering no resistance to the brazen touch, instead seeming most appreciative, even slyly parting her feet.

“I rarely miss a milking. Mother took me to so many.”

“The Emperor will be milked for you someday. You’re quite nubile.”

Midori demurely smiles, tucking the stack of notes into a shirt pocket.

The massaging hand retreats. But with the forced proximity of 322's face, Midori’s scent wafts and the woman’s fingers glisten. Then the woman smiles wickedly, presses forth her hand and brushes her wet fingers against 322's forcibly extended tongue. He recognizes the taste... both sweet and salty... and inadvertently utters a squeal of appreciation, desiring more of the tempting essence.

“Needs more exercise... but not more desire. He’s a lusty one and eager to serve.”

“And I have not yet had him injected.” Midori notes.

“Come my beast. We need food and water.”

322 grunts as the lack of slack means the slightest motion of Midori’s hand translates to instant stress on the brank and thus instant pain. She turns and steps from the table, setting direction then mercifully slipping her hand to a more conventional position on the leash. Slack gratefully returns as 322 notes in the distance some buildings, similar to the mud and brick of Midori’s hut, only larger.

“I’ll want you to be nice and erect while in the village, 322. Make me proud.”

A hand reaches and diddles right nipple then left. Just as with the mine worker, the sensation, though brief, brings a brisance of pleasure and 322 feels his penis react as desired as he steps to follow. Absent the many pounds of ore, the cart is comparatively light and 322... though naked, worked as a beast, well restrained and under total control... oddly revels in having completed his toil.

Below the hem of Midori‘s sole garment, 322 once again views the enticing globes as each step seems to beckon. And it is enough stimulus to maintain reasonable stiffness, his ringed penis seeming to bob in cadence with the roll of Midori’s buttocks.

Nearing the buildings, 322 is surprised to see the activity. A broad thoroughfare serves as a market, crude wooden tables form lines right and left. Women perambulate, some leading naked, well tethered human ox, branked and banded as is 322. Coming into better view are the markings on the buttocks. All are numbered, left cheek and right, three digits each. 322 thinks of the license plates mandated to be displayed on automobiles.

Midori notes 322's inquisitive look, staring at a particularly large set of buttocks, the numbering not to evade notice, the digits of keloided flesh large, prominent and red.

“The red attracts, does is not my beast? I can also do black or blue. Green is possible but quite homely. It’s a simple matter of applying powder to the open wound and letting the flesh heal over the coloring.”

As Midori speaks, she selects some vegetables and tosses such into the cart, offering to an aging female vendor some notes from her pocket.

Another table offers fruit, further along some slaughtered game bird. Then Midori directs to a table filled with the canisters which offered sustenance the previous night, the putrefied garbage... fortified... to be consumed by Chessu’s many beasts.

“I cannot afford too many, my beast. You will have to work harder and transport more ore.”

Two canisters are tossed in the cart. More script is offered and Midori proceeds to a table loaded with urns.

“Water... the most valuable commodity in Chessu... other than the Rhodium ore.”

Two urns are placed into the cart, Midori parts with much script. She then holds up the remaining currency. The packet is considerably slimmer.

“Little in reserve, my beast. Should you twist an ankle, become injured, you’ll not eat.”

322 feels a hand to his rear. It gently pats his balls, pausing to slightly squeeze and judge the symbols of trapped virility. There follows motion to his side. With Midori’s firm grip, 322 cannot turn his head to see as a hand grazes over his flesh in inspection.

“Good sized penis... and he stays nice and stiff for you.”

The source of the voice is female, young and she continues to move to the front to finally come into view.

“Congratulations, Midori. The Empress has been generous as always.”

Midori smiles, leans and kisses the girl... in a manner more than a gesture of mere greeting. She is young, very pretty, of Asian heritage, dark hair, dark eyes, wearing only the short silk blouse, freely flashing her pink charms and exposing her buttocks.

“You will soon have yours, Tamora. And the Empress is sure to be equally generous,” Midori offers as the girl’s fingers next move to toy with the nipples, grinning as 322's penis waggles in response to her sensuous touch.

“Join us for dinner, Tamora? Tonight I am going to begin his markings and I know you always find amusement in the screams.”

Tamora pauses in thought.

“Does he lick?”

“Oh Tamora, they all lick. It’s at what level of ardor you should be inquiring about. And yes, he is reasonably good... and will get better. Otherwise I will keep him stressed. You know the training... they kneel or hang until they break.”

Chapter Twenty One - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty One

The hands are gruff, those of a manual laborer, those of a breaker of rocks. Midori steps back, a gesture of concurrence, offering the woman full purview over her beast. The woman tugs. 322 winces, emitting a simple word of objection not to be discerned, the brank obviating all speech. No, he must obediently move his head as the woman releases the leash and instead directly grasps the brank, right and left. She slowly lowers her hands, 322's head following as he must bend at the waist. The slightest tremor is felt, as if the woman cradles his brain, holds his very nerve center. And she amuses herself knowing of the intense discomfort brought by the most insignificant motions of her fingers.

Face at waist level, sensing that her power is understood, all resistance vanquished, the woman steps more proximate, her body odor filling the nostrils.

“Yes, it’s important in the desert, one dehydrates quicker than one realizes.”

The woman raises the hem of her leather skirt, continuing to control the brank in her right hand. Sans undergarments, 322's gaze greets a mass of pink flesh... huge, plump outer labia are parted. Between are the brighter pink inner labia, loosely dangling, daunting for even the most devoted cunnilinguist. It is evident the lips, mouth and tongue of some subservient have served there ad infinitum, sucking with fervor and without waver.

With tongue forcibly extended beyond the lips, brank offering maximum governance, the woman presses the mass of her sex to the moist and warm pink appendage of the beast. 322 cannot resist. He finds that though her odor is strong her taste is stronger. She moves her hands, 322 must move his head, the brank a convenient lever to assure the protruding tongue partakes. The woman sighs feeling the subdued wet warmth.

“So much enjoy the servile male tongue. I’ve been saving my funds, Midori. Going to get me a castrate. Dr. Saunders has assured me if I have him snipped young, he’ll be quite the docile oral servant. Keep him soft and plump. He’ll sleep naked with his head between my thighs...”

As the woman muses, she aligns her urethral opening. When she subtly parts her feet, 322 knows what is coming.

“You’ll drink lots in Chessu, beast. We’re generous with fluids... once such pass through the kidneys. Well watered beasts work harder,” the words offered with a sardonic snicker.

The left hand moves from the hem, propped atop 322's head. The thumb and forefinger lift the clitoral hood and further splay the lips. She opens herself, firmly jostling the brank in sending her silent message... ‘drink or be in agony’.

322 drinks, the contents of her bladder seeming to continuously stream into a mouth forced to accept all that a woman induces.

“Yes, blond, chubby and neutered, that’s how I’m spending my hard earned pay.”

Meanwhile, other laborers ignore the antics and toss ore into the cart. Half filled, Midori signals enough as the woman finishes her excretions, gathers up the free leash and steps back.

“Very attentive. Quite docile. I am sure you appreciate the Empress’s generosity,” returning the leash to Midori.

The woman reaches and tweaks 322's right nipple. Though the skin of her fingers is understandably coarse, 322 is surprised at his reaction, a brisance of pleasure causing his semi erect penis to waggle.

Both the woman and Midori smile knowingly, the reaction not a surprise to those governing the chaste male.

“Come my beast,” Midori’s soft words known to be a command.

Taste remaining, the strong fragrance of feminine essence continuing to fill the nostrils, 332 knows to recompose and focus on the leash as Midori steps. He digs in, feeling the sling tighten, his balls compressing, the short chains of the waist band pulling against the prongs. But the cart moves not. He redoubles his efforts as Midori steps back to his left side.

“It’s only half a load my beast.”

With the admonishment, the marsh grass is to be utilized, that which 322 observed being moderately applied with notable results moments before.

The arm extends, the gentlest of strokes greets the well exposed scrotal sac, the plant world’s natural defense against grazing animals first titillates then scorches the overly sensitive pink male flesh. Dozens of nettles bring fervent desire to move, to quickly escape from what feels like fire.

322 howls, the brank muffling his vocal protest. Meanwhile a merciful mine worker, though amused, pushes against the back of the cart offering a modicum of momentum.

322 digs in, underutilized leg muscles straining, but now able to continue the cart’s roll.

“Good boy. You like having your balls lashed. And I like the results.”

Midori references the renewed stiffness, a firmer penis waggling anew. As 322 strains, he excogitates... is it the pain that spurs such a truckling reaction... the bondage... the anal plug... or being under a woman’s exacting directive?

Midori hastens her step to move to the front. 322 becomes sanguine, the cart rolling, his laboring footsteps find a cadence, the exertion needed to keep the cart moving achievable, the beautiful, uncovered cheeks of his handler... his Master... offering diversion from the slow torment of challenged muscles. On occasion she turns, to survey her beast, flashing that between her thighs. With the taste, scent and view of the feminine portal, 322's mind becomes emerged in lust. His transformed penis has been rendered useless, yet he finds the urge is to please others not himself. He thinks of the antics at the Los Angeles county jail, the notion of stroking the raw skin of his penis now seeming so foreign... so distant. And that he would place his pleasure before that of others... a sentiment which has been disavowed.

One mile... two... sweat pours, 322 feels his sling moisten. And yes it seems to slowly shrink, tightening its grip to further compress his precious testicles. But it feels good.

There is a securing comfort, as if Miss Midori is cradling his organs. Yes, it feels good indeed and he notes his own perspiration has quenched the fire of the nettles. There is a lesson learned... to work, to labor, to toil, is to avoid pain. And to please others...

His erection will not subside.

Chapter Twenty - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty

Midori leads, 322 follows. To the front of the hut, she pauses at the wall where hang the assortment of leashes, marsh grass and the sling. Left hand firmly gripping the leash, the fingers of the right brush over the cylindrical rubber objects, oddly shaped, various bumps, tapered, each with a flange on one end and a metal ring.

“Start you off with a moderate size, 322. Anal insertions can become somewhat addictive for the chaste male. You’ll quickly find yourself wanting more and more. As you can see, I can accommodate.”

Midori chuckles. Having lubricated the anus of 322, she is aware of his tightness... which will change. And she will thrill with the power to stretch.

“Let’s get you into your sling 322. You’ll feel better,” a plug marked ‘No. 5' selected.

The leash is again slung over the protruding overhead beam and tied. 322 begins to understand Chessu’s strict protocol for handling naked male beasts. Such are either restrained... or walked at the behest of a woman with a leash. He begins to realize he will never again move under his own will. Miss Midori is careful and consistent.... trained since childhood... growing up with a naked, subjugated male as any other child would maturate with a pet.

The procedure for the sling repeats. Removed from the wall, clipped to the front of the waist band, a finger hooks through the Prince Albert ring, the semi stiff organ is carefully drawn through the penis slit. On this occasion the anal plug... No. 5... is threaded onto the loose end and as Midori draws the strip of leather up and back, she aligns the implement of black rubber with the anus. Well greased, it slips within... eliciting an amusing grunt... and further impales as Midori tucks the end of the sling under the back of the waist band and pulls to tighten.

“Make you nice a comfy. All you boys so much enjoy the insertions.”

Next, her fingers work to open the sling’s testicle slit, gently pinch the scrotal sac and pull into view the mammoth stretched mass of flesh which will humbly announce his status to the women of Chessu. The well designed sling so prominently presents the organs... and so vulnerably.

One last firm pull and Midori steps to the front to take in the leash.

“Oh yes, very nice my pet.”

She offers slack, permitting 322 to gaze downward and partake in what so much enthuses the governing women of Chessu. The ringed penis protrudes... its stiffness rapidly increasing... and it begins to waggle with zeal... celebrating with the anal impalement.

“You’re going to make me very proud, 322.”

Tears of shame form... yet deep within, 322 feels strange stimulation... intense arousal.

He is pleased to make her proud... yet he does not fully understand his own reaction.

Midori grabs a length of marsh grass and leads to the waiting cart. Again the process repeats... loose end of the sling buckled to the front edge of the cart, waist belt attached to short chains on the leading prongs. There is the odd comfort, the testicles so tightly enshrouded, the woman’s governance so thorough.

“Come my beast. To the mine.”

In watching the slack of the leash being taken in, 322 knows to begin to pull. The sling slowly tightens and tightens, comfortably squeezing his balls, then finally comes tension on the short chains to apply force to the prongs and the cart. The vehicle rolls, but not before 332 is forced to further compress his male package... firmly pressure his anal insertion.

Out to the crude dirt pathway, once again 322 finds that momentum becomes his friend. In achieving sufficient velocity, the toil becomes much less cumbrous and his focus shifts to the marvelous buttocks rolling before him, the alluring view continuing to spur his erection... that and the stout anal plug... wickedly designed to knead that curious male gland.

One mile... two... his firm penis bobs, Midori occasionally turning to look back and observe.... the vaunted male organ... so pleasing... so well tamed.

The landscape begins to change becoming more hilly. Then approaching in the distance is a similar duo... a governing female of slight stature... leading a tall naked male beast hitched to a cart, identically branked and leashed. As it nears, 322 notes the size of the weighty load. Then the duo slows at an incline and the woman steps to the side. Marsh grass in hand, the arm extends and swings, applying a gentle stroke to the well entrapped scrotal sac. 322 notes that despite the moderation of the blow, the beast lurches, straining against the prongs, instantly pulling with more force as the woman also takes in the slack of the leash. Though 322 sees that her controlling pull is slight, he can vicariously feel the pain the slightest jostle brings.

The approaching beast is well worked. 322 notes the abundance of sweat, and the extreme tightness of the leather sling. As Midori noted, moisture brings shrinkage, the beast’s very sweat ironically adding to the level of restraint.

Midori merely nods and smiles to her compatriot. Similarly attired, naked from the waist down, 322 judges the woman to be older than Miss Midori, though the view of her feminine charms is equally welcomed.

In passing, 322 notes the buttocks of the straining beast. There are three keloided digits on the left cheek. His view of the right cheek blocked, 322 assumes there are another three digits, forever designating ownership.

Midori notes 322's observing eye.

“You will be marked as well my beast. 384 one the left cheek... 322 on the right. Carved into your flesh with a searing hot knife. The Empress insists that the property of the province be marked.”

322 shudders with the thought, carved like a game bird at holiday. But what is there he can do? He will lie and be marked.

Within minutes a large open pit is encountered. The Rhodium mine of Chessu is merely a hole in the rocky desert soil. There is no heavy equipment. Nothing mechanized. Instead women of size and strength wield pick axes and shovels. Not of Asian heritage, it is apparent such are migratory workers, skilled in mining and brought to Chessu to initiate export of the recently discovered Rhodium ore.

Large rocks are loosened from the earth with pounding sledge hammers turning such to transportable stones. The attire is more elaborate, protection evidently required from the flying debris of stone chips. The arms are covered in black leather. Jack boots cover the calves. Thicker black leather enshrouds the torso, and short black leather skirts end just above mid thigh. As the women work, their charms flash into view as well... but not offering the consistent allure of that of the handlers.

Another duo of beast and handler idly wait while the working women, of notable size and strength, fill the box-like back of the cart. It soon brims with the priceless ore and the handler jostles the leash to signal the beginning of the long arduous trip to the airstrip.

Women wordlessly begin to fill the cart of 322. The naked beast, well exposed to so many, more than ever senses his subjugation. He smells their sweat, toiling in the hot desert sun. Midori advises.

“Half a load today. He’s being trained and conditioned.”

“New?” a particularly brawny worker inquires.

Midori nods and the huge woman approaches, taking the leash.

“He’ll need to be kept well watered.”

Chapter Nineteen - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Nineteen

The morning light awakens. Despite the bondage, ankle bands secured to the pole, wrists restrained behind his back, 322 slept soundly. The weeks under the care of Dr. Saunders and the wicked nurses, strapped to a hospital bed, has brought acclimatization, mentally and physically, to thorough feminine control.

Midori steps from the back entrance of the hut. 322 cranes his neck to look upwards. He is amazed to see her completely nude and carrying a small basin. She smiles, noting his interest and, just as when training him to pull the ox cart, allows him to visually partake.

Lithe, not much more than 100 pounds, the compact breasts are firm, perfectly rounded, nipples of stone. 322 watches as she kneels to his left side, his head turning not to miss a moment of joyful gazing. In placing the basin close by, he notes it is half filled with cloudy water.

“We rarely have full baths or showers here, my beast,” Midoroi explains as her hand withdraws a soaked chamois.

A small most effeminate hand proceeds to sponge bathe. The girl is without shyness, washing face, arms, shoulders, making a teasing show of cleansing her breasts. Then the torso and legs, and finally she kneels more upright, parts her knees and swishes the warm softness about her mons, offering 322 a most libidinous viewing of her sex. With a few brisk few hand strokes between her cheeks, Midori deems herself cleansed. She arises to stand, displaying once again the entire expanse of her alluring naked form. She smiles in noting that 322 continues to gawk.

“Up!” she commands, her left had entwining in his hair to pull, the right hand pressing at his chest.

322 awkwardly returns to his knees as Midori reaches to the pole and attaches the cord to his neck band. She notes that her teasing ablutions have had the expected effect. The penis of 322 is firm and she knowingly smiles. In Chessu such tumescence is considered a form of tribute.

“You’ll need to urinate,” observes bending to pick up the wash basin. “And I’ll want you to empty your bowels for me. You’ll be in the sling most of the day.”

Midori approaches with the basin.

“Open. Water is not wasted here.”

Foamy, smelling of soap, tainted with the bodily fluids of sweat, vaginal essence, possible traces of excrement as well, Midori is strongly suggesting that her beast drink. There is horripilation as the basin is held to his lips. A pause.

Midori’s free left hand lowers and palms the scrotum, working to isolate the left gonad between thumb and index finger. She begins with a gentle tolerable squeeze.

“I will not pressure to the point of neutering you, 322. But I think you will surprise yourself in learning how much pain I can imbue without doing much physical harm.”

322 receives the message. He begins to sip.

“We learn the foibles of the male anatomy very young here in Chessu. I have been squeezing a man’s balls for many years. When taught at such an early age, most compunction is forever dispelled. And listening to a boy’s plaintive screams as the fingers tighten can become music... ”

Midori maintains her grip as the basin’s contents begin to drain.

“You’ll need the fluids. And the soap will soon have you moving your bowels for me.”

Basin emptied, Midori releases her grip, steps back, tenderly pats the cheek of her beast then moves to the hut. Within minutes she returns. 322 is disappointed to see she dons the white and red silk blouse. But with hem line just below the hips, she remains flashing her sex. And of course the finely shaped buttocks cannot be ignored. But then, in the right hand, 322 spots the brank... evil, horrid, such a simple device... yet bringing such slow unending torment.

“Please no,” the words inadvertently gush.

Midori laughs.

“You choose to speak. You have much to learn, 322. Keep violating the rule of silence and you’ll be branked more often than you care to endure. Anytime a beast is worked, not restrained, he is to be branked. It is the rule. While I await your bowel movement, we will practice. Tongue!”

With reluctance, 322 obediently thrusts forth the demanded appendage. Midori slips the slim rod into the left cheek grommet.

“Just a little more.”

322 complies further pressing outward with his tongue and the shaft easily slides through the opposing hole in his tongue and slides out the right grommet.

“Remember that tongue position. Now again.”

Midori slips out the brank and pauses. Then utters the command again. 322 thrusts, doing his best to position the tongue to where the brank can facilely penetrate cheek and tongue with a single effortless motion of Miss Midori’s hand.

“Better. One more time.”

The brank is slid away. Another pause then another command. The alignment is perfect. No trifling, no adjustment needed.

“Good. You’re learning obedience my beast. And learning to enjoy being under a woman’s control as well,” her fingers playfully abrading the forcibly protruding length of pink wetness.

Midori’s eyes move lower. She smiles in noting the erection. 322 protests the brank, but her tendance excites. The psychologist has again chosen well, she notes. Her beast will blossom well into the groveling, abject human animal which she... and all the women of Chessu... desire.

322 begins to fidget. The soapy water has churned the viscera. Midori returns to the hut and retrieves a bowl.

“You’ll learn to appreciate the close care and attention, 322. I’m going to keep you quite regular.”

The bowl is positioned. 322 is dispirited in watching Miss Midori slip the loops of the leash over the ends of the brank. As he empties himself, the neck collar is released then the ankle bands. Though he is tired, every muscle aching from disuse during his journey and stay at the hospital then rapid change to overexertion, Midori forces him to stand, drawing the leash and smiling in observing the instant response to the gentle motion of her dainty hand.

“A treat for you today. I am going to plug you to assure you stay nice and stiff for me. Then we’re off to the mine for your first of many, many loads. Today a light load... tomorrow more... then more the day after that. You’ll going to make me much money, 322. While I physically wear you down, my means will rise.”

Chapter Eighteen - Whisked to Chessu

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.