The Chris Bellows' Collection

by Chris Bellows

  A brief fantasy comes to mind where I have the entire university football team naked and running for many miles as I apply vigorous strokes with the sjambok to assure that no one dares finish last. And what a scene I’d make for myself in the shower room... well sculpted buttocks bearing the stripes of my disciplining hand.

  I am glad I took Miss Duval’s suggestion and abstained from wearing undergarments. Such would be soaked with my essence and I have not yet even begun. With my short pleated skirt, I’ll let the room air dry the evidence of my self arousal.

  I hear bells indicating that Miranda has finished walking Corky and has entered the house with the human dog in tow. I move to the door and see that this muted Caucasian male obediently follows the leash no matter who controls.

  “Let’s strip him down Miranda,” I pleasantly suggest.

  I tap the top of Corky’s buttocks with the sjambok as his elbows and knees work to follow the leash. Then I close the double doors against the forthcoming noise. Corky may not be able to speak but I think he’ll soon be trying to vocalize some form of protest.

  Despite the provocative cage in the middle of the room, there is ample space for my training. I find a simple straight backed chair and sit, parting my thighs to give the kneeling Corky a glimpse of my flashing charms.

  “Remove everything, Miranda. Arm and leg bindings, the chains and the anal insertion. And unhook those bells.”

  I sit with my stern look of confidence, that which I use when ordering about physically imposing but mentally pliable males. As the latex bindings are unlaced I playfully reach to rub the tip of the sjambok against Corky’s nipples.

  “Nicely puffed and tender, Corky. Chastity has that affect on the male mammary gland. It’s the hormone imbalance.”

  Oh, I think he’s blushing already. And as suspected, he’s beginning to feel pain as for the first time in days he’s able to straighten his limbs, arms then legs.

  “Just roll to your side and let the blood circulate a little.”

  I pause and gaze at this completely naked form under my governance. The steel collar cannot come off nor the matching circle of steel around his scrotum, welded in place with arousing permanency But otherwise he is completely exposed and he’s mine!

  The masochistic fly meets the sadistic spider.

  “We’re going to do some stretching Corky, limber you up a little. It will be painful but not harmful. There is a goal to be accomplished that will require newly developed flexibility. Attaining such will require determination on your part. I am here to instill the determination.”

  A reach out and apply a moderate snap of the sjambok to his right buttock. A rush of air passes from lungs and through surgically altered vocal cords to emit the most pitifully inhuman squawk. Such an efficient correcting instrument. I have his full attention.

  This could be more fun than making a normal male scream and beg for mercy. My athletes have been known to implore me for rest during a punishment workout. Corky can’t beseech for such!

  “Ok roll to your back. Lie flat. Spread the feet. Further. Further!”

  I stand over his head. The end of the forty inch sjambok easily reaches those pierced testicles. When I notice he’s staring up under my short loose skirt where there are no undergarments to offer modesty, I press the tip and threateningly jiggle his scrotal sac, sending a message no male wants to receive... your balls are most vulnerable and I am most in earnest.

  “Pay attention, Corky. There’s nothing under there for you.”

  His eyes lower and his feet part in a split that is routinely achieved by the female gender, awkwardly uncomfortable for the male. Miranda looks on, soaking up my dominion. With her years on this island I can imagine her ingrained disdain and aloofness concerning the Caucasian male.

  I continue barking commands. Corky obeys nicely yet I apply painful correcting strokes just to remind him of who’s in charge and, of course, to amuse me.

  Satisfied that he’s loosened up, I begin the process by which we will hopefully reach Miss Duval’s goal by the end of the week. Otherwise I can stay longer or I will pass the sjambok to the observing Miranda who will continue the procedure.

  “Ok Corky. Stay on your back. Arms straight out to your sides. Now knees to your chest. Quickly, quickly!”

  A good firm swat to the buttocks as he lifts his legs and exposes his upturned backside.

  “Now straighten your legs. Yes, that’s it, feet and ankles over your head. Spread em nice and wide!”

  He faces the ceiling, back on the rug, rolled into a ball with his feet over his head.

  “Now let’s stretch. Toes all the way to the floor. Curl up like a bug. Lift your hips and butt.”

  No male can accomplish such on the first try. But ligaments and tendons stretch and it’s my job to ensure they do.

  “Miranda, would you please sit on his left thigh. I’ll sit on the right. Just slowly add a little weight. He’ll bend but he won’t break.”

  I know the anatomy. Corky will suffer but incur no physical damage.

  Meanwhile as both Miranda and I sit and shift more and more weight to Corky’s overturned legs, the ligaments in his hips and lower back stretch and our goal is slowly attained. The level of Corky’s penis and balls slowly lower to approach his face.

  Miranda and I will be forcefully stretching Corky like this every day. By week’s end I am sure I can achieve Miss Duval’s desires. Corky’s ligaments will loosen and he will be able to lick his balls just like every other dog. Miss Duval will be greatly entertained.

  And as I slowly shift my weight and force those ligaments to stretch, I notice that Corky can almost lick his penis now!

  Chapter Twenty Five - Miss Ashley Duval

  As are most on my little Caribbean island, it’s a wonderful day to bask in the sun.

  Reggie and I are on the beach overlooking this scenic cove, which shelters the water from the wind and transforms the warm and clear ocean to a large swimming pool.

  It’s late morning. Corky is having his first session with the demanding physical therapist Mary and I’m amusing myself with my well hung toy as I did with Charles before I had him modified to be Corky the dog. Yes, in tribute to me and my guests, I have Reggie standing at his full ten inches, his hairless penis and balls gleaming with a protective coating of sun tan lotion that I applied with enticing deliberation.

  My pilot arrives with her naked, chastised companion carrying a beach bag. When staying on the island she has her own cottage where I can only imagine what she does to her effeminate copilot. I am sure that in the bag are adequate toys for a full afternoon of debauchery.

  “In keeping him locked up, he’s always eager to greet ‘Mr. Big Stick’,” the pilot once explained, referencing the sizable dildo she dons and uses to split those girlish cheeks.

  I wave and notice that the copilot’s attention is drawn to Reggie’s erection. I smile knowing that, but for the pilot’s governance, he’d be sucking cocks in some gay bar. A fascinating relationship.

  The thought of sucking cocks brings memories of visiting Charles at the Amsterdam Clinic during the time of his modification. I suppose he’s by now guessed that I was behind the one way glass with Dr. Corrothers during just about every session with Nurse Peggy and Nurse Valerie. His release from the sensory deprivation box was scheduled around my availability, so if I was traveling for a few days, ‘poor’ Corky stayed in his world of nothingness until I returned to entertain myself.

  The initial session with Henrietta was cute... Corky’s first cock. But it certainly wasn’t his last. Thereafter he was introduced to patient after patient, the endowment of each increasingly growing, with Nurse Peggy and Nurse Valerie providing graphic instructions as to how they wanted the male organ to be serviced.

  There is no such thing as clothing for the male patients at the Institute for Behavioral Modification and since each wore the nylon belt with wrists cuffed at the hips, the forcibly chaste patients were quite eager to feel the warm and we
t tongue and lips of Corky.

  In his drug induced haze, Corky found the nurses’ commands to be difficult to resist. Plus there was the promise of real food for each cock well sucked, and there were many.

  So in referencing Corky’s oral endeavors, Nurse Peggy and Nurse Valerie humorously termed the exploding semen as his ‘sperm appetizer’. For each sizable load of thick cum completely swallowed, there was the reward of food.

  Nurse Valerie assisted in developing Corky’s newly found skill by working his gag reflex and teaching him how to control it. Yes many times I’d just sit and watch as one firm hand held back Corky’s head while another plumbed the depths of his gullet with a large rubber dildo. In. Out. In. Out. Nurse Valerie’s soft encouraging words made it sound as if she was potty training a child.

  Knowing that it was being done at my behest and that it was being done to my malicious husband added a thrill for me. I sought permanent revenge and had the time and money to attain it. If a loving Charles had been philandering, it would be one thing. But to romance me, court me, and marry me for no other reason than my money was unforgivable. Love had not gone astray... love had never existed.

  Yet watching my scheming husband learn to covet the male organ wasn’t enough. So on one occasion when the nurses had Corky choking to fellate one of the largest patients at the Institute, Dr. Stella mentioned to me that Dr. Helga Reinhold would be performing Henrietta’s final operation. I became intrigued.

  “Helga’s quite the surgeon. Gifted but with a perspective concerning the male that we find quite expedient to our goals here at the Institute. Keep in mind we can modify Corky’s behavior from a mental standpoint, but you may wish to also consider physical modifications. Once Corky’s behavior is modified, I don’t think you’d enjoy listening to a litany of beseeching apologies. And as good as he’s becoming with the male organ, you may wish to give consideration to your own needs.”

  Yes, Dr. Stella planted the seed and I found myself interviewing Dr. Helga to ascertain ideas for more steps in my plan for revenge on Charles, the transition to groveling cuckolded husband.

  We sat together behind the one way glass and watched Nurse Peggy walk Corky about on a leash then thoroughly enjoyed a session of fellatio as Corky serviced a belligerent young stud who had confessed to some nasty sex crimes.

  “That will be the youngster’s last ejaculation,” Dr. Helga noted with laughter. “He’s agreed to the judge’s recommendation and tomorrow will undergo the operation that the male fears the most.”

  Yes, I remember thinking, I have the right woman for the job. Dr. Helga pridefully announced her intention to neuter the lad. We exchanged thoughts.

  “He can’t be kept on the Thorazine forever, Ashley. The brain will permanently deteriorate. But much of his subservience will be permanently ingrained after the dosage is ceased and I can silence him for you. With some simple augmentations I can also make his tongue long and pliable. Then there’s the question of chastity. And I always recommend some ostentatious alteration that he’ll bear for you. A constant reminder of your governance.”

  I wanted Corky to be in constant state of randiness, like a dog in heat. I wanted him forever pining for the satiation I so lovingly and willingly furnished while he so maliciously plotted. I wanted him so overfilled with hormones that his only thoughts would be of me, my soft warmth and my comforting hand, which so graciously offered gratification. And I wanted him to feel rage and frustration every time I achieved climax, which in observing his humiliation would be often.

  So we settled on rerouting his urethra to curtail the pleasure of ejaculation and the cruel testicle piercings, turning Corky’s male organs into a showcase and adding the chiming bells to ensure all noticed. Corky would pine for sexual gratification yet never be able to achieve such.

  “You should have him measured for a collar also. A permanent one. No reason it should ever be removed,” Dr. Helga commented as she arose to leave for the operating room.

  Later, in selecting a shiny stainless steel collar at an upscale Greenwich Village sex shop, it was the sales woman who showed me the matching scrotal ring.

  “It’s on sale with the purchase of the collar. And customers say that it’s most subjugating for a male to wear such a constant reminder of a woman’s control.”

  How could I resist such a bargain. I had Corky’s sac measured.

  When it came time for his operation, I showed myself for the first time in months. He was both elated and chagrined and sure enough he tried to apologize and beg for forgiveness. His casual manner concerning deceit stiffened my resolve. I took great pleasure in observing Dr. Helga physically alter him while he watched under local anesthesia. I became so wet I couldn’t wait to experience the pleasure of that augmented tongue.

  Then it became time for Corky’s court date, his hearing of non compos mentis, and my petition to become his permanent ward.

  That’s when, despite all the sessions of fellatio and all the modifications I instituted, I attained the most satisfaction.

  Corky couldn’t talk to defend himself, having weeks before undergone Dr. Helga’s simple suturing of his vocal cords. But I was aware that the judge, for the record, would endeavor to communicate as best she could and obtain his testimony. So despite the fact that she was most sympathetic to my request, after all I was a caring wife seeking to provide permanent shelter for a deranged husband whose mental imbalance motivated an ill considered petition for divorce, I needed assurance of the desired outcome.

  The hearing took place right in the Institute. Charles J. Barrington, Esq., known as Corky amongst the staff, was provided a skimpy dressing gown. With no buttons or ties his discomfort was assured in that the covering could fall away or be instantly whisked from his shoulders to display him completely naked. No lawyer likes to appear so vulnerable before an August judge, and our jurist seemed to enjoy watching Charles struggle to maintain modesty. Corky’s wrists were cuffed together in front, which permitted some use of his hands. But such were comically occupied in holding his sole garment in place.

  “Mr. Barrington, I have carefully gone over the Institute’s records concerning your mental state and it’s obvious there are concerns. The depression, the sexual deviancy, all well documented, the photos are most graphic, lead me to understand your wife’s request for stewardship. Yet it’s rare to mandate such without your consent. If I reject her petition and your divorce is finalized, how do you expect to support yourself? Lawyers who cannot speak are not good voices for their clients. And I doubt, given what’s in your file here, that the bar association will even let you practice.”

  Charles looked confused as he should have. He didn’t know the unending sessions of fellatio were photographed. Yes, to put it in card parlance, I stacked the deck. And I reveled in his initial shock and then in his frustration as he wrote awkwardly on a pad, left hand needed to hold in place his dressing gown. The note was forwarded to the judge. She read and responded.

  “But what you’ve indicated here in your note does not correlate to the prenuptial agreement. You suggest you’re entitled to settlement payments in the millions, amongst other benefits. I suggest you reread the agreement, Mr. Barrington. And if you don’t understand it then I’ll have an attorney appointed to explain it to you.”

  Charles became even more deliciously frustrated at that point, the judge suggesting that someone be appointed to interpret for him the document that he himself had written, or he thought he had written.

  “There will be a final hearing with my decision next week. Next case.”

  I just shrugged at my ‘poor’ Corky as Nurse Valerie stepped forward, tightened the slack on the chain connecting his wrist restraints and led him away. With a mischievous look, she deliberately let the dressing gown flutter about and upon reaching the exit the garment completely fell away to expose Corky’s buttocks to the entire courtroom. Fortunately for Corky we had removed his testicle bells for the hearing. When gone an amused judge summoned me to step fo
rward to speak sub rosa.

  “His confusion over the prenuptial agreement is prima facie evidence of mental defect, Miss Duval. I think in a more lucid moment he’ll agree to place himself in your care. He’s lucky to have you.”

  I thanked the judge, smiling with the irony of her observation. I left as another patient, ineluctably well trussed, was wheeled into her special court. The judge had a tough reputation and I wondered just how many sex offenders she coerced into facing Dr. Helga’s scalpel rather than endure a lifetime in a mental institution.

  Chapter Twenty Six - Corky

  With the grueling session ending, Miranda slips on my arm and leg bindings as the demanding Miss Mary stands over me with the sjambok. Rarely have I experienced such searing pain as when the firm hand of the physical trainer flicked away and the simplest of motions translated to a swish, a splat, a jolt of agony and a shock to my cortex.

  As obeisant as I have become, I quickly learned that Miss Mary was a no nonsense young woman.

  For the first time, as I gaze over her imposing form, I realize that the young woman is not only of great mental fortitude but also of great physical strength. Her calves and thighs, though most shapely, appear to be those of an accomplished runner. Her sleeveless blouse reveals arms that a prize fighter would bear... sinewy, not bulky as with a weightlifter, but well developed in that inordinate time and attention has been expended in exercising muscles that even most males do not display.

  I tried very hard to please and though extremely uncomfortable in some of the positions she demanded, her resolve forced me closer and closer to her goal. It was both aggravating and humiliating yet being temporarily freed of the constraining latex coverings felt good.

  “Let’s take him to the beach Miranda.”

  I endure the shame of having young feminine hands replace my tail insertion. Miranda having been taught how to ascertain the proper angle to penetrate my rectum, she slowly inserts the specially designed bulbous end. I grunt with the odd pain/pleasure of prostate manipulation and Miss Mary smiles at my reaction.