I nod to the girls, not wishing to interrupt.
“Come, Willie,” I call and he reluctantly tears himself from the licentious scene to approach me at the opposite end of the walker line. In his advanced state of priapism, he has quickly come to realize that his cleansing and massage can be most diverting, though I continue to detect some degree of embarrassment in insisting that he move his bowels for me.
I release Willie and take him by the leash, guiding him to his table. He bounds onto the chair and then poses like a champion show dog on the flat surface. His urethra drips of prostatic fluid, as expected with the days of chastity and the libidinous scene which Lenore and Chloe have presented.
“Willie’s penis is quite excited this morning, “ I coo in my matronly tone. “So big and hard for me. You like showing off, don’t you, Willie?”
I speak as I unzip and peel away the right arm binding. Today I am going to apply hair removal cream, which will be quicker, more effective and leave his skin more smooth than shaving. Once the long strands of hair have been shaven away, the removal cream is fast and easy. And in applying it I graciously knead his cramped muscles.
Willie tries to lick my face in gratitude for the muscular relief.
Limb after limb I coat, massage, time the required four minutes and then merely wipe away all stubble. Then I do back and torso. When I begin to cautiously smear his scrotal sac, an exhausted Lenore pushes away Chloe’s head and arises to watch. Chloe joins her.
The girls stand to Willie’s front smirking with the sense of feminine power and Willie’s thorough submission to my womanly touch. Then Lenore bends to look under Willie’s torso and observe that which even the most disdainful woman enjoys viewing...the well-tamed and controlled male phallus.
“Dripping considerably, Judy. And it appears so reddened, like it’s been scraped.”
Since I have not yet cleaned it, I have not noticed. But sure enough, I lean to look and see that the moist tip is redder than normal. I immediately recognize the symptoms of futile attempts at masturbation, the frottaging of the penis tip against the likes of bed sheets or in Willie’s case, his blanket. I have often seen similar chafed penile flesh on young males with hand injuries, their bandages making conventional masturbation impossible.
“He’s probably rubbing himself in his sleep, Lenore. The forcibly chaste male will try anything...”
I wipe off the last of the hair removal cream as I speak and begin a detailed examination of the penis, bending it downward so that it appears between his spread thighs like a long and stiff cow’s udder. Willie groans in a combination of discomfort and extreme shame as the three of us inspect and comment. It only takes a moment to confirm Lenore’s observation and my suspicion. Lenore and I make direct eye contact. I smile wryly. Without a spoken word I know my suggestion of last evening is agreed to, Willie will be pierced.
“That procedure you suggested, can you do it here?” Lenore inquires.
“Need some ice, a sharp needle and something to serve as a clasp,” I reply with a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders.
And with that, a decision has been made to take Willie down one more step. It’s so ironic that the life of the virile male can be so easily altered and ensconced under feminine control.
But for now, Willie has not yet moved his bowels, and with Chloe and Lenore observing closely, the dear pooch will perform for me, his smooth and hairless flesh turning the brightest pink with the extreme humiliation.
Chapter Forty
Willie
I am in a funk, perched atop the table and made to perform the most intimate bodily function. And of course my traitorous penis hardens to stone.
References are made to a procedure but I listen not. I focus on the beautiful Miss Chloe, standing before me with practically no covering...brief strings and tiny patches being the only attempt at modesty.
So when Miss Judy finally finishes the morning ablutions, I recklessly step from table to chair to pool deck with haste.
“Come, Willie. Time for a swim,” Miss Chloe gushes with enthusiasm, clapping her hands to encourage my response.
It is a most warm day in mid June and the rubber bindings tend to be stifling. So when Miss Chloe leads me by my leash to the shallow end, so I am eager to cool myself. My only other excursion into the large crystal clear mass of water was last October when I was cruelly forced in by Miss Beverly’s hand. Now under Miss Chloe’s tutelage I prance, stepping high and unveiling a strange pride in being led on a leash by a stunning blonde.
“Step down...step...step...step.”
I follow Miss Chloe’s tugs as she stands to the side and my paws find steps. It’s awkward but as I progress the water deepens and I soon find myself floating with Miss Chloe remaining at poolside and holding the leash to ensure I do not sink.
The rubber sheaths encasing both arms and legs seem to add buoyancy for I find myself floating better than normal and as I am pulled further and further towards the deep section my faux paws can no longer reach the concrete bottom and I am forced to paddle. Miss Chloe is charmed as I earnestly kick all fours, endeavoring to add slack to the leash, for my nipples remain in harness and tension from Miss Chloe’s hand causes to close and pinch the deviously clever serrated rubber strips.
“Oh Lenore, look at him swim,” she exclaims with delight.
And I do indeed paddle with vigor, working every limb to ease the pain in my nipples.
Round and round we go with Miss Chloe directing me to swim even in the shallow end. Meanwhile I remain enamored, gazing at her nearly naked form. And if the cooling water softens my intractable erection, it certainly does not feel so. Despite the diverting exercise and soothing effect of the gentle current, I remain engorged.
After several laps Miss Lenore, sipping a mint julep and seeming to watch Miss Chloe with equal devotion, calls out, “Enough Chloe. Pull him out and mask him. It’s time for your exercise.”
Miss Chloe smiles devilishly with the reference. She directs me back to the overhead line and summarily clips my chain leash. Lenore tosses to Chloe a mass of rubber sheathing and I soon find my head covered. A large hole at the mouth and nose affords air, but I am rendered sightless. My view of the most enticing Miss Chloe comes to an end for the day.
Chapter Forty One
Lenore
Watching my diminutive housemate and lover so deftly control the male beast is stimulating. As stated, weekends are reserved for unending pleasure and though earlier Chloe more than adequately serviced my quim, I want her...and I want her naked.
And so as agreed, our canine toy will be hooded while Chloe and I engage in deep passionate lesbian embraces.
But Willie may listen, so to ensure his frustration I move a lounge chair to within inches of where his walker line ends and his leash constrains further exploration. I beckon to Chloe and she demurely approaches playing the role of little girl. Now my thumb and forefinger do indeed reach out and with the simplest of pulls the two strings holding in place her only covering fall to the deck. She is now totally naked in the pristine outdoors...in the sun...completely vulnerable to the whims of my Sapphic lust. She smiles so shyly, making every carnal dalliance a challenge; a mock assault on her virtue.
“Right here little girl,” I command with a smile, patting the surface of the low reclining chair.
“Face up, knees to the sides. Open and show yourself nicely spread.”
She steps forward with the reluctance of a timid ingénue, her manner projecting every imaginable aspect of innocence. I would not be surprised if she began to suck her thumb.
Such a coquettish actress. An observer would think I was about to plunder her virginity.
“I know what Chloe needs...come on; be a good girl,” I inveigle.
She bashfully lies down with her knees draped over the sides and her feet on the deck. The position so nicely opens her outer labia and exposes to the bright sunlight the wonderfully complicated folds of flesh guarding the entrance to her feminine p
ortal. I smile at the sight. Oh, how her loveliness makes my heart sing! No matter how many times I visit there it is such a rousing excursion. Chloe is sweet, warm, ripe. And her dalliance with Willie, directing the naked and bound male, has nicely moistened her. Her coyness is mere subterfuge. Her love pot desperately needs attention.
Willie shuffles forward hearing our movement. His front paws find the end of the lounge chair. So close yet so far, Willie, I think to myself.
At nearly six feet in height I easily straddle the chair and Chloe’s torso. Facing toward Willie, I slowly lower myself over her, lifting the hem of my pleated skirt. Yes, Chloe must earn my loving ministrations, and I gently sit resting my parted thighs to her sides. With my mons inches over her face, I feel her excited breath against my charms.
She needs no further encouragement or direction. Chloe is a consummate cunnilinguist and knows that to be rewarded she must lick and suck with abandon.
So once again we begin. Atop her mons I splay the fingers of my left hand to open her canal even further and pull up her clitoral hood. The fingers of my right begin the long slow process of kneading, caressing, and massaging every inch of moist pinkness. I gently pinch, pull and twist, teasing without entering. She moans which serves to stimulate my own genitalia. And I briefly look up to see Willie straining against his leash, the sounds of Sapphic embrace driving him to distraction.
I gather up Chloe’s moisture, reach out, and smear Willie’s exposed lips and nose.
“A little taste of Chloe,” I taunt.
Chloe’s odoriferous feminine essence now fills his nostrils. His tongue flicks out and lick. He savors the essence. I laugh. He can taste; he can smell, but he cannot see or touch. Such divine torment.
Then I recall that Chloe is a squirter and Willie is most proximate. And when given the time and the inclination, I can turn Chloe’s luscious pouch into a veritable fountain. How devious! How cruel!
So as Chloe’s tongue feverishly laps in an effort to spur my deft fingers, I work to circum-gyrate her inner labia then finally plumb the depths of her vagina. The little girl squeals delightfully with my penetration. As I labor to friction the moist and warm vaginal walls, her lips gather around my clitoris, sucking avidly.
I pinch her clitoral hood with my left fingers and casually call out to Willie, “Lean over and place your front paws on the chair, boy. Bow your head. Yes, very good...now open wide...”
With that I press with my right fingers on Chloe’s special spot, that which I know opens the valve to that precious fountain. I feel her spasm and then a spurt of feminine essence arches toward Willie. Missing his mouth, it hits his chin but his tongue lashes out to catch a taste before it drips off. Chloe writhes in ecstasy and the little minx nibbles me, bringing forth a massive climax of my own.
I must pause in exhaustion and ecstatic release.
Willie is most frustratingly teased. Though I missed his mouth, I will do better next time. We have the entire summer to practice.
Chapter Forty Two
Judy
Once the decision is made, I approach my task with the zeal and professionalism expected of a woman of medicine.
I arise Sunday to gather a bucket, locate a long hat pin, and have husband Tom search the basement for an appropriate nail. He fortuitously locates a brass finishing nail once intended for use on the deck of our sailboat, long since sold.
Narrow in gauge and some two inches in length, it’s perfect. And in placing it in a vise and tapping with a hammer it easily bends, not quite to 90 degrees.
Both hat pin and nail are boiled on the stove then immersed in a caustic and antiseptic solution. The bucket is filled with crushed ice and I add some water. I am ready for Willie. He will frottage no more.
Morning ablutions proceed as usual. Willie displays his rigidity to welcome me. There is temporary release from the bindings, massage, hair removal, a cleansing which includes his prepuce. I examine his testicles, squeezing to test for proper firmness. I have him move his bowels with little reluctance, the pup seeming grateful on this morning to have a limited audience. Then it’s time for business.
“Spread widely, Willie,” I command as he docilely stands on four legs, perched atop the table.
I place the bucket of ice between his hind paws and plunk his male organs into the slushy freezing cold. Ice is probably a rudimentary form of anesthetic but it is readily available and within a few minutes, his erect penis shrinks. When I reach in and pinch the sensitive tip, there is no discernible reaction. He’s numbed.
I remove the bucket and dry his organs. The basin of caustic solution is nearby and I reach for the hat pin. Now for the difficult judgment. I will gather a sizable fold of Willie’s foreskin and skewer it near the tip under the sensitive glans penis. Two holes will result, entry and exit, and if I judge correctly, the bent brass nail will easily be slid through and most effectively inhibit the foreskin from withdrawing down the shaft when the penis reacts to arousal. African tribes have used the procedure for centuries to forestall excessive masturbation. Greeks so did their athletes; Romans their slaves. It’s referred to as infibulation and since Willie has no use of his hands, the bent nail will stay in place until Master Chloe decides to remove it and permit erection.
The power, so exquisitely controlling! Henceforth, unauthorized tumescence will result in excruciating pain as his firming penis tip knocks on the foreskin door. But there will be no through fare. A simple strip of brass will prohibit the foreskin from retracting when the swelling penis tip attempts to escape its sheath. Continuing arousal will result in growing agony, unless, of course, the sympathetic hand of a supervising woman chooses to give consent...merely slipping the nail from its snug place of deterrence. But I suspect such consent will not be forthrightly given. No, Willie’s willie must earn its freedom.
I select a spot for a good tight infibulation, that is where the foreskin will be held in place to continuously encapsulate most of the penis tip yet allow just enough of an opening for urination. I pinch and draw the flesh down and away from the head then thrust the needle through the thin skin. Willie winces, but the ice has fulfilled its role. There is little bleeding and I quickly withdraw the needle and hook the nail through the two openings before the holes close. Some hydrogen peroxide curtails the minor flow of blood. A healing lotion soothes. It will take a day or two but at Willie’s age the skin will readily accept the infibulating nail and the new opening will become permanent.
And the results? Well, the summer will go most slowly for poor Willie. There is now absolutely nothing he controls.
Chapter Forty Three
Willie
Miss Judy leads me back to the walker line having dunked my organs into a freezing cold bucket and done something which was briefly painful. My chain leash is hooked above and she withdraws.
After being kept for nearly a week, I know that the remainder of the morning will drag with me pacing back and forth in boredom and on occasion Miss Judy checking my water. The summer’s sun bakes my neck and back and from time to time I lie down and roll over to even the rapidly developing tan. Sometimes I will sleep or daydream and of course with over a week of chastity, thoughts of Miss Chloe cause to develop a slow but most firm erection.
Even at age nineteen, the fragrance of the aroused female is both pleasant and stimulating. And yesterday, I was provided my first taste; Miss Lenore coating my lips with the moisture of my idol. And so my thoughts are of more than physical beauty in thinking of Miss Chloe. I have tasted her, and her piquant essence is sublime.
I lie and position myself to face the late morning sun and darken my belly. The numbing of the ice wears and I look down to see a thin piece of metal attached to my penis. It penetrates the tip!
It appears to be a bent nail with one end coming to a point and the other having a slightly bulbous head serving as target for a hammer. The middle of the nail...the bent shaft...disappears beneath the loose pink flesh of my manhood.
I stare, perplexed b
y the odd trinket. But as time passes and lustful thoughts of Miss Chloe bring arousal, its purpose becomes evident. The tip of my penis strains to vacate its moist home. With the nail effectively pinching closed my foreskin, the purple tip swells but cannot escape! Yet, my organ continues to grow.
Within minutes the pain is too much. I begin to howl and roll about on the deck. Miss Judy eventually appears, anticipating my needs with a wet towel and ice pouch.
“I have infibulated you, Willie. You will have to learn to control yourself. Miss Chloe will be home later and if you’re a good doggie, she’ll slip out the infibulating nail. Otherwise you are to remain flaccid., and if not, to place yourself in agony.”
Miss Judy laughs with her aphoristic observation and graciously ices my swelling penis. I lick her hand in gratitude as my penis retracts and the pain subsides.
It slowly dawns that now I must look forward to a visit from Miss Chloe without fantasizing over her exquisite form, stunning good looks, and her wonderfully feminine fragrance and taste. And so as the day grinds I find that I must learn to control my thoughts. Even my mind is subject to the dominance of my female captors.
Miss Judy later appears to walk me to the back of the garage where I urinate for her..., leg turned up as demanded.
Afterwards, with my tongue, I spend much time polishing my empty food bowl to please Miss Chloe. Funny how something like Alpo can taste so good when offered but once per day.
Afternoon arrives, and with it three more brief attempts of penile liberation. Then the gorgeous Miss Chloe strolls out the back door. She looks marvelous as always, dressed, if that is the appropriate term, in the abbreviated collection of strings and patches. I feel my penis tip attempt to vacate its sheath. I hope indeed that she will remove the brass nail as Miss Judy suggested. I bound toward her, feeling the movement of the chain leash on my nipples. I strain at the end of the walker line, looking into her merry eyes as she approaches with a delightful smile of innocence.
The Chris Bellows' Collection Page 8
