The Chris Bellows' Collection

by Chris Bellows

  “Reggie spent quite deeply, Corky. I had him climax on a most intense downthrust... perfectly timed I might add. That tongue of yours will be quite challenged.”

  Mr. Reggie resumes laughing and Miss Ashley joins him.

  Yes, after dutifully cleansing Mr. Reggie’s semi flaccid penis of all elements of copulation, knowing to gently lick the newly sensitized organ, Miss Ashley guided me to the chair. Here I will perform the ‘cream pie clean up’, the most humiliating of acts required of a supplicant. And before this irritatingly potent Reginald!

  I begin. It is a privilege to serve my beautiful booted owner... but under the mocking glare of her well hung gigolo?

  I circle the outer labia with my tongue, sensing the incredible heat. I always wonder whether such is generated externally by friction or internally by the pulsating circulation of a concupiscent woman who thoroughly enjoys fornication.

  What little juices I gather I eagerly swallow. Some would say it is a most revolting act, but the psychologist, Dr. Stella, ensured all that after weeks and weeks of training, something about B. F. Skinner and operant conditioning, that I would serve orally and learn to enjoy it. So after cleansing the outer labia, my long and specially altered tongue slides within Miss Ashley’s exquisite portal to likewise service the inner labia. I hear her sigh, basking in the glow of a wondrous orgasm and now humbly licked clean by her subservient pet.

  My lips surround the sensitive inner labia and suck. My tongue thrusts, slithering well into Miss Ashley’s vagina. I begin my chore in earnest. My collar will not be released until Miss Ashley is cleansed and I have feasted on all that Mr. Reggie has presented.

  “He does have enthusiasm for the task,” Mr. Reggie jokes.

  “Yes Reggie, as I said, he’s trained. I won’t tell you the cost, but you spoke to Dr. Corrothers on the plane. Imagine what months and month of her time is worth? And the clinic! One of the most expensive in New York.

  “But nothing’s too costly to save a marriage. Corky wanted a divorce. Can you imagine that?”

  More laughter as Miss Ashley’s comments bring memories. I shudder with the mention of the New York clinic, an ancient facility once used for the warehousing of the insane. Its current reputation as a psychiatric facility belies the cruel and unusual treatment I was afforded.

  To properly spur my oral efforts, Miss Ashley grips the obedience stick. In a well practiced form of unspoken communication a dexterous snap of her wrist causes the whippy six inch string of leather to split my gluteal cleft and sear my scrotum. The pain is unbearable, yet I know this to mean thrust deeply with my tongue. When she extends her arm to my side and taps the head of my penis I know this to mean suck more forcefully. Brisk taps on the soles of my upturned feet mean attention is needed on her clitoris. Satisfactory efforts are rewarded and encouragement bestowed with gentle tugs and occasional jostling of my control chain. Yes, such action serves to waggle my tail, which in turn manipulates my anal insertion. As Miss Ashley well knows, such caressing of the prostate gland, particularly in the chaste male, affords a degree of pleasure... ephemeral... fleeting... but pleasure all the same.

  So yes, I lick and suck with zeal. After all, I have been well trained.

  “You can use this chair anytime, Reggie. As you have seen, I’ve had Corky trained to service both genders.”

  Deep within my Queen’s quim my tongue finally encounters the abundant juices deposited by the virile Mr. Reggie. The laborious task begins and I work methodically knowing that I will not be released until Miss Ashley is cleansed. Time is not essential. Miss Ashley has been known to wile away an entire afternoon in her chair and over the years my tongue and lips have developed stamina.

  My mind reels back to our courtship when I first went down on the ‘coy’ Ashley Duval. In considering myself experienced, I recall tenderly kissing Miss Ashley’s knees then working my way up her thighs as we lay in repose in my modest apartment. Some women are initially shy concerning oral matters so by rote I went slowly. But again there was a clue that I did not perceive. As tongue and lips neared her mons, Ashley became more authoritative, opening her thighs in greeting and reaching down to cradle my head. She was far from bashful and as she pressed my face into her pubes, her actions became mechanical. At some time, somewhere, someone had introduced Ashley to the delights of cunnilingus. As I worked tongue and lips, the expected girlish squeals were instead explicit instructions and commands, Ashley seeming to know that every woman has different areas of sensitivity and not wishing to pass time while I discovered hers.

  And whereas some woman have difficulty in achieving an orgasm during an initial contact with a lover, Miss Ashley was most orgasmic. During that long night she came frequently, had me gasping for air on occasion, and at the end claimed exhaustion when I suggested some form of relief was in order for me.

  “Just stroke yourself while I watch,” was her suggestion.

  And again the firm tone, her stern manner should have raised concerns. Yet the dollars blinded me. A life of leisure awaited, so I thought. So in a fully lit room, I performed the normally lonely ritual and masturbated while she indeed watched. Her authoritative look of amusement cannot be forgotten.

  Chapter Six - Miss Ashley Duval

  Though Corky’s tongue is long and sedulous, what really is going to rid my uterus of Reggie’s copious spending is the phenomenon that every woman experiences after intercourse. That is that the natural inner workings of the female organ commence certain contractions that reverse the normal tendency of the vagina to absorb. So what really happens when I insist on Corky’s attention is that the manipulations of his tongue accelerate this process and within minutes Reggie’s deeply implanted ejaculate will flow downwards and be presented for Corky to savor.

  Yes, he won’t miss a drop. And in demanding that he perform such a demeaning task, in feeling the warm wetness of his exquisite tongue and lips, in gazing over the chiseled physique of my naked Reggie as he gloatingly watches, all combine to indulge my need for power. As a string of mild vaginal orgasms begin I feel Reggie’s sperm ooze downward to greet Corky’s long pink and wet appendage. And there is the wicked thought that Corky will consume every drop. Such ensures that the cascade of climaxes will continue.

  “My boots, Reggie. Be a dear.”

  Watching Reggie’s semi erect ten inches flop about while he moves can be entertaining. So when he approaches to remove my tightly fitting custom made footwear, I playfully raise my right leg, point my toe and press with my foot to flick the long tube of flesh, giggling as it swings about like an elephant’s trunk.

  Reggie smiles with my taunting and I watch amused as one naked male tends to my only garb and another assures vaginal hygiene.

  “A quick shower, Reggie. Corky’s almost done. Run the water please.”

  I nod toward the bathroom door and my man turns, knowing to prepare the flow of the numerous showerheads so that I will step into a deluge of water perfectly warmed to 106 degrees.

  Meanwhile, as Corky attentively locates and savors every drop of slimy ejaculate, my mind wanders somewhat... reflecting on how I came to own such a wonderful pet.

  Dating Charles J. Barrington, Esq. was entertaining. And I must admit on some nights as he awkwardly stumbled his way through romantic dinner conversations toward comical hints of intercourse, I was somewhat charmed. Something in those beseeching eyes told me he was searching....searching for change... guidance... to be saved from a life of boredom and one without purpose... seeking to be offered some goal other than to proofread some sesquipedalian legal document for the fourth and fifth time.

  So I played along, very much aware that Charles knew of my wealth. Oh yes, Priscilla the astute secretary of Samuel L. Brackett let it slip. She seemed to think that I was distraught over the death of my Aunt Meredith and needed cheering.

  “One of our young and handsome associates has been inquiring about you,” she conveyed during one phone call before connecting me to attorney Brackett.

>   I groped for more, and as Priscilla continued, immediately realized that the associate was Charles, the guy I exchanged phone numbers with in the park.

  Thereafter I played along with Charles’ courtship, waiting for the time when he would divulge to me his knowledge of my circumstances. After several dates and a few rolls in the hay, he never did. In my mind, his lack of disclosure began to become odorous. After all, I was not going to go first. A girl just doesn’t suddenly announce that she’s one of the wealthiest women in the world. And besides, as an attorney, some notion of ethics would suggest that he disclose to me his employment at the law firm that handled my aunt’s estate.

  When nothing was forthcoming, my suspicions grew.

  Yet, I had nothing to lose, and slowly introducing Charles into my style of love making became an interesting diversion. After a time he learned to silently assume a supine position on the bed, knowing that I’m always on top and I always control when I want a man to climax. This transcended into nipple play... his... and later clamps and strict training to teach my subordinate male that ejaculation would not occur until I decided, gripping firmly and twisting on those useless male nubs to signal my consent.

  Was Charles genuinely submissive or just patiently tolerating my proclivities in order to obtain the money? I didn’t know then... and really don’t care now. It does not matter. Charles... Corky... will submit... a totally subjugated male. His penchant for Dominance, real or feigned, has no relevance now.

  I lean forward and snap the obedience stick, applying a nasty little lash to the crack of his buttocks, nipping those forcibly exposed balls. I thrill with the resulting feel of a paroxysmal thrust of his tongue. I absorb the pleasure, wait a moment then flick the shaft of the obedience stick right, left, right, left on the soles of his upturned feet. There follows the feel his tongue withdrawing and his mouth moving to provide more clitoral stimulation. This is how I like to end ardent sessions of cunnilingus, subordinate male lips firmly wrapped about my feminine bud with strong suction applied until I nearly faint with ecstasy. With Reggie’s semen dutifully sucked away, my own juices flow to quench what I perceive to be Corky’s thirst. I always wonder how much the flavor changes.

  “Enough,” I summarily announce as one more orgasm will sap me of the strength to attend dinner.

  And Reggie awaits with a soothing hot shower.

  I release Corky’s neck collar from the chair and clip on the leash. To heighten his frustration my chaste pet can watch as Reggie and I bathe.

  “Come,” I simply command leading him by his leash into my cavernous bathroom.

  There I secure the leash to one of the many wall hooks. I pat the top of his head then gently pull on his control chain to tease his prostate and stoop to diddle the tip of his erect penis.

  “Good boy, Corky,” I coo as if talking to a child or cute puppy.

  The organ waggles noticeably. The sight of my nakedness, the taste of my essence mingling with Reggie’s fertile spending, my ephemeral touch all have my chaste Corky in quite a priapic state.

  “Just a little more effort and I’ll have you fed. You’ve earned your sustenance,” I graciously offer in keeping with Dr. Corrothers mandated regimen.

  Corky only eats after he’s indulged in ‘sperm appetizers’, as the girls joked at the clinic in New York where he was first trained.

  I beckon to Reggie who steps forth. I merely point and Corky knows to lick my plaything’s balls and return him to full engorgement. Full tumescence for an organ of Reggie’s size can be somewhat distracting. But when I shower with a man, I like to be entertained.

  Chapter Seven - Corky

  So here I crawl about on elbows and knees, as best as my leash allows. Through the glass walls of the sizable shower stall I watch with both envy and lust as the gigolo Reggie and my beautiful wife Miss Ashley Duval shower. There seems to be an understanding that washing oneself is taboo as Mr. Reggie’s hands deftly swab every inch of Miss Ashley’s body with soap and soft cloth. He stands behind her while a smiling Miss Ashley faces me. I know him to be pressing that massive erection into her soft and warm body while his hands encircle her torso and kneads her breasts and nipples. The look of pleasure on Miss Ashley’s face grows as she notices me straining on my leash. It should be I whose hands so lasciviously caress. She is my wife.

  Satisfying herself that I am closely observing, the taunting Miss Ashley turns to wash Mr. Reggie. She takes the cloth and her hands lower to lather Mr. Reggie’s huge standing penis. It appears that by the time the ablutions end, he will have a layer of skin removed from penis and testicles... Miss Ashley working diligently to assure that her living dildo remains erect for the entire process.

  As my wife soaps Mr. Reggie’s scrotum and reaches for a safety razor I am reminded of the morning when she introduced me... coerced me really... to the notion that pubic hair was ungainly. As she slowly strokes the razor about Mr. Reggie’s already hairless pubes, the memories return.

  We were approaching the first anniversary of our meeting in the park. Just a month or so earlier Miss Ashley had backhandedly disclosed her financial circumstances when I questioned her about a credit card bill. Knowing I had skipped a payment on a card that was burgeoning with the charges resulting from romancing Miss Ashley, I opened the envelope with a degree of apprehension. I expected to see a huge minimum payment due plus the usual computer generated warning about maintaining good credit and paying regularly. Instead there was no past due balance and nominal charges for the month. With my tardiness making the card being just about unusable, so I thought, I had switched to another for the month of wining and dining.

  A brief examination showed that a sizable payment had been made, wiping out my balance but for minor charges for flowers purchased early in the month and a modest dinner at some midtown restaurant. The amount of the payment crediting the balance was in the thousands... a considerable amount for a law associate four years out of school.

  Miss Ashley stepped into my apartment as I stared at the serendipitous statement and, having provided her with a key months before, I suspected she had intervened.

  “The credit card company’s made an error,” I jovially announced then explained the credit. “But do I dare use the card not knowing when they’ll correct it?”

  “No mistake,” she replied. “You left last month’s opened statement on the kitchen table. I thought how it must be annoying for you to make all the monthly minimum payments, so I knocked off the balance.”

  I smiled, feigning surprise concerning her resources. Up until that point, ostensibly I knew her to do charity work a few days a week and to be otherwise unemployed. So here was my chance to officially learn about her wealth... to superficially ascertain all that I already gleaned from Samuel L. Brackett’s memos and correspondence. I questioned her and with a coy smile she bashfully explained that she had inherited some money.

  Just so that I no longer had to pretend to have limited knowledge, I cross examined her further to officially learn what I already knew... that she was most likely the wealthiest single woman in the world.

  “So you’re that Ashley Duval,” I blurted with a voice that again feigned surprise.

  And that’s when I went into the academy award performance I had long planned. The one where she guardedly inquires whether her vast wealth will make a difference in our romance. Where I hug her and profess that my love and admiration accedes all levels of materiality, that for all my life I will cherish her and adore, yes, adore something. I can no longer remember the list I had memorized. Adore her mind, her thoughtfulness, her grace, her presence. I laid it on thickly.

  And Miss Ashley Duval soaked it all up.

  Unbeknownst to her, I was already drafting a prenuptial agreement, and I had not yet even proposed marriage. It was a daydream type of thing... like when a guy envisions himself catching the winning pass in the Super Bowl... or sinking a birdie putt to win the U.S. Open... acing a worthy opponent to take the Wimbledon title. It seemed ev
ery time I became frustrated with the drudgery of law I would add imaginary terms and conditions to further enrich me, knowing that under New York law, once married, it was the only way Miss Ashley Duval could deny me half of the fortune. In essence a prenuptial agreement becomes a payoff.

  So that night we made love with rekindled enthusiasm... me lying beneath not my ‘meal ticket’... no, the vernacular to be used might better have been my ‘retirement plan’. But this time as I patiently lay in wait as trained, she brought a towel and a bowl and straddled me backwards, facing my feet.

  “Would you mind using your tongue a bit while I make you more presentable?” she calmly inquired as she lowered her buttocks over my face.

  So while I performed cunnilingus, she shaved me, completely denuding my groin area of all hair. And I have been kept that way ever since, here and the island a native maid examining almost daily and applying foul smelling hair removal lotion with the feel of the tiniest stubble. I suppose in Miss Ashley’s mind she had paid for the privilege of altering my appearance to her liking. That remittance to the credit card company was nearly in the five digits.

  And now I am made to watch as Mr. Reggie receives Miss Ashley’s tendance. The same caring and gentle hands that shaved me on that most relevant night, now shave another man. She finishes and puts aside the razor then turns to look at me through the shower glass. Miss Ashley kneels, the flow of numerous shower heads splashing against her nakedness. She cradles Mr. Reggie’s long hanging scrotal sac in her left hand. Her right grasps the enormous shaft, pointing straight upwards which moments before I licked to a full stand. She strokes, the abundant soap imbuing hand and erection with sordid slipperiness. She smiles wickedly, extends her tongue and flutters it, mimicking one of the actions taught to me in performing fellatio. She knows that my forced chastity has my hormones running wild. I feel myself flush with envy... with desire. I feel my own erection waggle, the sight of Miss Ashley’s divine form keeping my manhood at full tumescence, her lascivious action heightening the shame of being so blatantly cuckolded.