The Chris Bellows' Collection

by Chris Bellows

  “You mean that naked little wimp cavorting in your backyard as a Dalmatian, the one impressionable enough to allow himself to be strip searched and forced to masturbate on my boots?”

  I laughed. and had to say yes, of course.

  Willie’s assistance aids Peetie in keeping the house spotless. And though I have deprived Peetie of life’s ultimate reward, in male terms, he is able to divine some vicarious pleasure in not only orally servicing me, but also in handling Willie. For when I am not present, Peetie is in charge and he thrills in having control over the intact yet pubescently hairless Willie.

  Having emptied myself, I give Willie a reassuring pat on his head and proceed to the shower. There Peetie has warmed the water and I step into the oversized stall where he joins me.

  It is a touching expression of affection. Peetie bathes me just about every morning. In his mind having such intimate proximity to the woman who castrated him must afford an odd assurance...that I squashed and removed his precious balls as an act of devotion and to ensure a lifetime of obedience. And I return the sentiment. Gently washing that empty scrotal sac with my bare fingers and toying with his inosculated penis makes me giddy with the sensation of power. And most amusingly, though it has been months since his alteration, the penis still firms somewhat. Its useless state makes me laugh and ironically Peetie joins me with the slurred guffaw which his altered vocal cords emit in merriment. Yes, there is distant enjoyment for him in having his castratrix revisit the scene of his slow and painful emasculation. He seems to know I cannot again hurt him there.

  After Peetie enjoys touching me, it is my turn. I push him to all fours knowing that his bladder is full and in having his penis attached to his abdomen, the shower stall is the most convenient place for him to urinate. While kneeling, I encourage him to go just like the poodle he emulates. So knowing the streaming showerhead will wash away his excretions, I have him lift one leg. He knows to go and I lean and reach under to pinch the penis head between thumb and forefinger, first curtailing the flow and then releasing to direct it toward the shower drain. It’s a favorite part of the morning ritual, controlling the tiny inosculated organ. When he finishes, I slap his buttocks to signal that I am through with him and then reach for the shampoo.

  While I lather, my castrated companion, being too short to reach my hair, exits to assure that a warm towel awaits. Then he will lay out my uniform and rush to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Always one step ahead, Peetie’s endeavors make the drudgery of morning preparations effortless.

  When I arrive at the kitchen table, Peetie has Willie kneeling at the side of my chair. There, over coffee and toast, I playfully feed him and give him playful pats and teasing fondling. He remains hooded and knows to keep his hands folded behind his head. The power exchange is subtle but complete. And after handling Peetie’s empty sac in the shower, I enjoy playing with Willie’s ball-laden and overly ripe scrotum and entrapped penis while he mentally struggles to remain flaccid.

  “Maybe tomorrow Miss Beverly will stop by and masturbate you, “ I mischievously taunt.

  Then I giggle, knowing full well that it won’t happen and that I uttered the same words yesterday and the day before.

  No, Willie shall remain chaste and obedient. The consequences for breaking the rules...my edicts...are most severe.

  I had Willie registered as a paroled sex offender. Nasty, devious, mean..., but that is my nature. And the slightest act of misbehavior will result in more than being kept naked and blindfolded in my house. With a simple phone call, I can have Willie put in jail.

  I finish coffee and the clock indicates that duty calls. With another pat to the head I arise and playfully diddle a nipple. This gives me as much sexual titillation as it does him.

  “I think there’s some stubble forming, Peetie,” I observe after smoothing my hands with impunity. “When you bathe him, apply more hair removal cream.”

  And with that, my day in law enforcement begins.

  Peetie will spend the next hour cleaning and having fun with Willie in the shower. Then he will unlock the closet so he can get dressed for the day, but not before washing, massaging and caressing Willie’s hairless form. Willie’s homophobic reaction is greatly entertaining, but he knows he must let things happen. It is the only way he can earn his school attire.

  Neutering Peetie has had that effect. His sexual preferences have become rather ambivalent of late.

  Chapter Fifty Eight

  Willie

  In boarding with Miss Benson, I never thought I would be so eager to attend classes. For on campus, I am afforded clothing and a smattering of normality.

  In her home, I am kept naked and in being constantly infibulated, the presence of the imposing and fully clothed Miss Benson can be quite intimidating. And when Miss Benson prepares for bed, evenings of feverish study end, as her nakedness mandates that I be hooded.

  Those are the rules.

  On this cool autumn morning, Miss Benson advises that another application of depilatory cream is advisable, and I feel her powerful hands tantalizingly smooth everywhere in a brief inspection. Then there is a waft of cold air and the sound of a closing door as she exits the back door.

  This signals the time for the removal of my hood and the beginning steps along a path leading to the sanctuary of school.

  After Peetie releases the locking buckle, I shed the tight-fitting hood and scamper about the kitchen cleaning up. Though Peetie has most obsequiously served his Mistress, it is now my turn to serve him, assisting in every way to keep the kitchen and house orderly.

  I am fortunate that Miss Benson’s house is relatively secluded, for any passersby or casual callers would be alarmed that two naked males prance about, both pubescently hairless, one with altered penis and devoid of testicles, the other sporting a rather curious lock where the male beast particularly enjoys his freedom.

  Within thirty minutes all is in order and though one normally feels a sense of accomplishment, the completion of such tasks brings the most mentally challenging portion of the day.

  Hand signals from a mischievously smiling Peetie indicate that it is ‘shower time for Willie’, as Miss Benson calls out when present on her off duty days.

  It’s back to Miss Benson’s bedroom where an exuberant Peetie begins the quick but intensely cathartic process of preparing me. Fortunately, on most mornings, I have a ten o’clock class. Otherwise I believe Peetie would perpetuate his deviant hijinks as long as he was physically able.

  We begin with the hair removal cream, which Miss Benson insists be applied often. Though hair seems quite reluctant to grow after months of almost daily application at Miss Lenore and Miss Chloe’s, the procedure affords my castrated cohort with complete access to my nakedness. My natural homophobia brings forth an emotional uproar, but there is nothing I can do to resist. Thus I stand in Miss Benson’s bathroom, hands on head, which is the mandated pose when not serving, as Peetie smoothes the cream everywhere. When he lastly applies it to my burgeoning scrotum, seeming to be bloated with a buildup of sperm, he giggles in that odd altered voice. Since speech is denied him, he grunts and uses hand signals. And with my precious, sensitive balls covered with a chemical lotion which over time causes the skin to blaze, I am careful not to distract or interrupt his efforts. Peetie’s timing is superb in applying the harsh cream, and just as my feet begin to uncontrollably dance, he snaps his fingers and points. On the opposite wall is a rack and the quickly increasing fire on my genitalia encourages me to execute an rapid lunge to retrieve a towel. While Peetie gurgles in mirth, I hurry to the bathroom sink and wet it and then return and humbly offer it for my relief.

  I suppose the morning ritual affords Peetie a level of authority that is otherwise completely lacking, for he seems to relish ordering me about and watching as I rush to save the burning flesh of my scrotal sac, holding in place that which was so indifferently plundered from him.

  I resume my pose and he approaches with the cooling moist towel to remove
the flaring substance and any accumulated stubble, though I doubt my pubic hairs had the courage to face a repeat performance. He slowly and tenderly swaths the wet terrycloth over my sex organs, the look on his face a curious combination of envy and sadness. I believe that but for my scheduled class, he would play there without end.

  For the intact male, even one forced into chastity, the proximity and intimate touching must be disconcerting. I tell myself that Peetie is not male. He’s been altered, his hormone levels closer to that of a female. But still I tremble in a strange mental reaction of both revulsion and pleasure, for the cooling towel feels incredibly comforting in removing the burning cream.

  Meanwhile, I am curiously grateful to be so tightly infibulated. It removes any vacillation, forcing me to mentally avoid all tumescence. The thin loop penetrating the piercing of my foreskin can be readily tightened when inserted into the plastic lock. And Peetie’s knowing hands keep my penis tip most closely encapsulated...pressing the loose strand of plastic into the lock to where it binds and barely allows enough of an opening to urinate. Thus even moderate swelling must be avoided, lest I endure great agony.

  It is ironic to think that no woman would ever so cruelly entrap the male member. No, it is only the insouciant fingers of the altered male, himself denied the pleasure of the penis, and permanently, who would jealously and perhaps maliciously deny me the slightest erection.

  So as Peetie works my body, I must concentrate to remain totally flaccid. Even modest engorgement will bring agony.

  Yet, there is more to come. With the cream removed, Peetie points to Miss Benson’s huge shower stall. There I will be further tested.

  Chapter Fifty Nine

  Annette Benson

  There is something about living with the subservient naked male that spurs thoughts of conquest and complete capitulation. I have demonstrated to Peetie that I am omnipotent. After all, I keep his crushed balls stowed away in a glass jar. But with Willie there is an attitude of tolerance more than obedience...that he will accept my hospitality and shelter and endure...yet patiently await the time of day for when he moves on to the more mundane atmosphere of the college.

  He has learned to control himself admirably. With his infibulating lock obviating most normal collegiate activities such as dating and social intercourse, thoughts concerning the opposite sex must be confined to me. And that tongue is beginning to approach Peetie’s skill. I will have to allow him the privilege of servicing my labia and clitoris at some point. Perhaps during my monthly cycle...hmmm; yes, that will prove to test his metal.

  Still, he seems somewhat aloof. And so as I approach the police station to pick up Max and commence patrol, I make a mental note to stop by a certain shop during my lunch hour. The proprietor has a broad selection of instruments for restraint and for the correction of the behavior of the male. And after several weeks of Willie’s company, I will test his control and devotion to the duties mandated.

  Chapter Sixty

  Willie

  The warm water feels good, but I stand with trepidation as Peetie soaps my entire body and then swaths a soft washcloth everywhere. He kneels to cleanse my testicles with particular attentiveness and affection and closely inspects the plastic lock tightly holding closed my foreskin. He toys, fascinated with the fact that my flaccid penis can move about. His is immobile but for the fact that the penis head bobs about just at his navel.

  Then the water is turned off and as I obediently stand hands on head, I close my eyes. I know it to be time for my morning challenge and the mental fortitude requires much concentration.

  Peetie kneels and begins his daily oral offering, licking my overly plump scrotum with zeal. After caressing the entire surface with his tongue, his fingers work to isolate my left gonad so he can suck it into his mouth.

  Again I am repulsed by being so serviced by the male, but with the weeks of thorough chastity my phallus reacts otherwise. It twitches with the delightful sensation. It defies and begins to harden. I struggle to control both my thoughts and my physical reaction. But as Miss Benson has suggested many times, the oral skills of the castrated male are incomparable. He knows my anatomy and diabolically works to offer the utmost pleasure.

  Prostatic fluid oozes and Peetie suspends his adoration of my healthy genitals to dab away the viscous substance with his tongue. The warm wetness is heavenly and what little control I have mustered quickly erodes. My penis defies, attempting to firm within its fleshy nest to begin the agonizing cycle of pain, futile mental attempts to control, panicked thoughts of homoeroticism, yet with waves of delight as Peetie’s tactile tongue knowingly brings slight swelling and suffering.

  He momentarily withdraws to cackle. His envy is temporarily vanquished, knowing that though my penis can still function as a normal male it cannot and will not do so because his controlling fingers have so tightly secured my penis tip. “Enjoy,” is the message his sardonic and mutated laugh conveys.

  And then he resumes, engulfing my right testicle to begin another cycle.

  The pain is unbearable; the pleasure sickeningly exquisite. Fortunately I know it must soon end. I must attend classes and soon Peetie will tire, rinse my body and permit me to wear clothing. But I will face the same ordeal tomorrow and the day after.

  Chapter Sixty One

  Annette Benson

  I like wearing a thick leather tool belt and wielding such symbolic male implements as hammer, wrench and saw.

  It is Saturday morning and as I work in my basement, my two defacto maids, Peetie and Willie, strive to thoroughly clean the house. I can picture their efforts to wash the windows without attracting the attention of passersby. Knowing that public exposure stimulates Willie—and Peetie for that matter—though he can no longer physically demonstrate his enjoyment, provides a delicious mental image of his penis straining against the infibulating lock.

  Meanwhile I work with the tools to build a special contraption for Willie. Over the past few weeks I have been too liberal in permitting so much freedom, being lenient because he requires study time. I notice that lately he has developed some rather odd habits, wandering about the house on occasion, as if in a daze. It is probably due to the complete lack of social intercourse, and I suppose the hormonal buildup affects the mind after a while. I imagine him to be daydreaming about release. He particularly seems to dodder away mentally while licking my boots, the cleansing of which I insist be performed by the male tongue. To make the leather properly shine requires close to an hour for each and no hand has ever touched the surfaces.

  So to better effect Willie’s complete subjugation while not cleaning, licking or sleeping in my bed, and to entertain me of course, I construct a suspension device where Willie can show off that massive erection. Judy has suggested that release from infibulation is necessary from time to time. And thus I will oblige, but under my terms.

  Chapter Sixty Two

  Willie

  The past few Saturday afternoons Miss Benson has put Peetie and me back into our dog costumes. Since the weather has remained somewhat warm, she revels in walking two leashed and naked males in her expansive backyard. We are made to relieve ourselves, of course, and Peetie is given to poking his head between my cheeks to lick my low hanging sac. And while he’s bestowing this treat on me, Miss Benson firmly holds me in place and giggles at my grimacing reaction of disgust at his attempted stimulation.

  But lately, since the weather is cooling and the late fall brings rain, she has taken instead to working in the basement while I catch up on schoolwork. Later I know it will be time to clean her boots and I expect to spend hours laboring with tongue while she casually rests in a special reclining chair and sips wine. Peetie’s tongue will also labor, but between her thighs, her pleated skirt offering the required modesty from my roving eyes.

  However, late on this afternoon I am instead called to the basement. I instantly respond and descend into a nicely paneled section, apparently used at one time as a lounge or playroom when Miss Benson and h
er siblings were younger.

  A proud Miss Benson stands beside two sturdy vertical planks, about five feet apart and running from floor to ceiling. Near the top hang chains...one right, one left. Lower down dangle loops of broad nylon cloth.

  “For you, Willie. Don’t want you getting bored in the cold weather and you can’t romp outdoors.”

  On the floor, positioned between the two planks is a small stool. Miss Benson points. I know to step forward and up. The height places my face just above the level of her head. I look down into the eyes of my handsome blond tormentress. Though she smiles, her look remains implacable, unyielding. And in presenting myself naked before the fully clad woman, naturally the inevitable twinge is felt and I know I will soon be fighting the mental battle against tumescence.

  She extends both her hands and cups my testicles, now hanging at a most accessible height just below her shoulders. She smiles as if accepting a precious offering, smoothing the pink hairless flesh between thumbs and forefingers.

  “I think I’ll want these hanging lower,” she nonchalantly comments to herself aloud, as if envisioning the rearrangement of furniture.

  She releases my scrotum and strolls to a workbench. She returns with a thick and broad, fur-lined length of leather. Two powerful hands reach up to encircle my neck. The collar is buckled in the back and the height of the stiff leather holds my head immobile.

  “The fit is important, Willie. Can you move your head? Forward? Up, down?”

  I try and cannot. She is pleased.

  The chains are hooked to the collar right and left. She tests them, assuring herself that there is the right amount of tautness. Then Miss Benson moves to gather the right nylon strap in her hands and then she pushes it between my legs and connects it back to the plank to form a loop around my right thigh. Likewise the left strap is looped about my left thigh. She adjusts..., tightening, testing and tightening.