About Eve,

by Chris Bellows

  I made a mental note to determine the fate of the culled donors.

  We left to visit the next two donors. Upon entering their stalls I noted that if they were puppies, their tails would be wagging with the sound of the soft accented speech of the young Filipino woman and the anticipation of her initial caress. Over the next few hours both donors were cleaned and massaged. Neither were scheduled to give up sperm and oddly enough I found myself disappointed. But I learned much about Sperm Bank procedures.

  After business hours, Nami explained that two night nurses moved throughout the barn methodically checking each donor, allowing moderate bladder relief and ensuring that the overhead feed bags remained filled. There was also the matter of safety, as with anyone kept in strict bondage. For the most part, the donors remained hanging in place, blindfolded with earplugs providing a constant wall of indistinguishable sound, helplessly waiting for the knowing touch of their regular nurse.

  I sign the last purchase order. More restraint devices will arrive. The policy of the Spa is to constantly invest in new and different equipment. There is no part of the anatomy that cannot be restrained, stretched, displayed and tormented at the whim of a guest. And many guests leave with a memento. We have a wonderful supplier of nose clamps and the Dominant women find them to be quite a persuasive implement yet difficult to obtain elsewhere, thus necessitating constant reorders.

  The large bell on the roof of the lodge gongs. This signals to all that it is cocktail hour. Many who are skiing in the fading light will begin their last run and have the pleasure of ending it at the rear door. From there it is just a few steps to a hot toddy and a comforting scene of decadence. I drop my pen to join them.

  Chapter Ten

  The manager’s duties at the Spa never really end. Despite the long day as described, I return to the lobby. Many guests have gathered for Champagne and entertainment.

  Latricia has hung the male masturbation harness in the corner and a few new guests stare with curiosity.

  The harness was designed by me and for the most part restrains a naked male by emulating the position I observed years before at the Sperm Bank. It hangs from a strong chain attached to one of several hooks in an overhead beam. Suspending a prospective male is a simple matter of placing him standing with the numerous straps and buckles to his rear. The penis belt holding the Prince Albert ring in an upright position is removed. This allows for the broad belt of the harness to encircle the waist. Wrists are placed into cuffs sewn into the back of the harness. The neck collar is secured to cords from above, which can be adjusted (mainly tightened) by the masturbatrix. Wide cloth straps attached to the overhead beam encircle each thigh.

  When deemed ready for suspension, the ankles of the evening’s entertainment are drawn up and restrained in cuffs attached to the back of the harness. This leaves the male hanging in a kneeling position, his weight initially borne by the harness and thigh straps.

  Voila! A naked, helpless and hormone laden male ready to spill his seed for the benefit of the gathered guests.

  We have learned at the Spa how to maximize the drama of such occasions. With the first glasses of Champagne diminishing, Latricia leads out the prospective male utilizing a leash attached to his Prince Albert ring. This immediately draws attention to the subject matter, and I must say Latricia and the concierge have selected well. Of all the organs I have viewed over the years, this one is huge though only semi-erect.

  “Ladies, this is Paul. He’s scheduled for his first masturbation at the Spa, and how better can it be done than by having it viewed by all?

  “Paul is 22, plans to attend graduate school after his Spa tour and measures 12 inches. I’m sure most of you will get to know him better during your stay. His oral skills are rudimentary but with proper instruction from a firm woman can improve quickly.”

  The crowd laughs with Latricia’s teaser. I hear one woman turn to another and question whether she has brought a set of sounds long enough for Paul. I smile to myself knowing that the Spa has dozens of sets and should she indeed desire to probe Paul’s urethral opening with the long, smooth cylinders of steel, the painful and humiliating procedure can be accommodated with a simple call to the concierge.

  Latricia pushes Paul back into the harness and begins buckling the various straps and connections. Meanwhile, a partially aroused member of the serving staff humbly moves about the assembled women pouring a second glass of pale bubbly for each and, for good service, receiving in turn the customary diddle on the tip of his ringed penis. The second pouring signals the appearance of the masturbatrix. Tonight it is Motanda, the nurse from Nigeria.

  Again it is a suitable selection. Motanda stands close to six feet and has large, powerful hands. Paul will feel a grip on his manhood that he has never before experienced. I am glad I decided to watch.

  The room goes quiet when Nurse Motanda appears and steps toward her ‘patient’. She is an imposing figure, not only tall but powerfully built with the riveting feature of masculine shoulders effortlessly holding up sizable mammary glands which appear to be all muscle. The new guests seem to collectively gasp, and in fear Paul subconsciously attempts to step back, although well harnessed.

  Motanda smiles. Paul would interpret it as diabolical, the women of the Spa as a comparatively reserved indication of her enjoyment.

  The show resembles a two-ring circus. In one ring, Motanda moves to the side where a tray stands ready with all the paraphernalia needed to extract a long over due sperm sample from Paul. As Motanda dons a pair of white latex gloves with the deliberate sounds and drama of an executioner, in the second ring Latricia draws up one of Paul’s feet than the other and straps them into the ankle cuffs on the back of the harness.

  Again, the knowledge I acquired at the Sperm Bank has been utilized to great effect. I know that by shifting the weight from the feet, holding the thighs well separated and having the neck and spine somewhat stretched, Paul will tumefy slowly and beyond his ability to control.

  Sure enough when Latricia steps away, the semi erect organ begins to further engorge and, with the crowd laughing and taunting, arises within a minute to its full, amazing twelve inches.

  Paul is huge. He is naked. He is completely immobile. And, except for glances at Motanda, two dozen sets of feminine eyes are peering at his most intimate anatomical parts. What other reaction could be expected from the subordinate male than further tumescence? As he does so, the girth of his prodigious phallus seems to continually increase while Motanda snickers, ominously coating her gloves with the traditional fragranced oil specially formulated for the Spa.

  Meanwhile, Latricia slides a chair to Paul’s left side and retreats. The stage is set. All attention is on masturbatrix and masturbant, only to be diverted by the pouring of Champagne.

  While waiting for Motanda to take her seat and begin, my thoughts return to Bobbi.

  Lucretia kept my transformed ‘sister’ locked in the belt for interminable periods. No matter how much he cried and whined it was only removed weekly in Lucretia’s study. There, Bobbi was well restrained while the belt was cycled through the dishwasher and Lucretia kindly sponged his penis and scrotum. The hair removal cream had been most effective but after the bath Lucretia used the opportunity to continue applying a precautionary coating of the depilatory.

  Smoothing her hands over the sensitive skin of my hormone laden maid had the expected result, and despite the teeth bracelet which was never removed, Lucretia found herself obligated to provide a brisk caning in an attempt to shrink the resulting erection.

  Of course this didn’t work and time after time Lucretia had to resort to ice packs to bring the organ back to flaccidity.

  Such was Bobbi’s state. His randiness brought forth an erection, which completely ignored the sharp pain of the teeth and the caning.

  The use of ice reminded me of the treatment afforded the males of the Sperm Bank where a tray of cold water was used to control the similar reaction of the donors. As my tenure there pro
gressed I learned more and more about the male anatomy and the functions of the various reproductive organs. And so when Lucretia began having to ice down Bobbi in order to return him to the belt, it occurred to me that his prostate gland, a male organ so well inspected, massaged, and cared for at the Sperm Bank, was completely ignored by us. I became concerned.

  So after some six or seven months I engaged Nami, the nurse who so expertly performed the first milking I witnessed, in a conversation concerning my belted maid.

  “So you have a cute maid to serve you. How nice. On Miangas all the males serve but we rarely take the time and effort to feminize. There, it would be like dressing up a mule or other beast. The function of the servant is more important than the presentation and appearance. But I can understand the enjoyment. He must be very pretty.”

  The following day I brought in pictures of Bobbi in full feminine attire, make up and beautifully styled hair. Nami and I had a good laugh. When I explained my landlady’s procedure for substituting a good caning for ecstatic relief, Nami smiled but became concerned as I expected.

  “That’s not good. His glands have to be cared for. He should be milked. Probably every six to eight weeks. You’ve seen how it is done here. The pleasure can be minimized and the belt need not be removed.”

  In further conservation, Nami volunteered to show me how to do it. For her it was the equivalent of a busman’s holiday, but I promised her a well-cooked dinner and some wine, all prepared and served by Bobbi of course. And I determined that she should meet Lucretia. They could exchange much information if not become good acquaintances.

  Nami wrote down the suggested date.

  “You or Lucretia should have him opened up in the meanwhile. You know where I’ll need to go. At his age he’s probably rather tight.”

  Lucretia did have Bobbi perambulate with a moderate butt plug from time to time. But the insert was more designed to make him aware of his walk than to open him, Lucretia suggesting that a stuffed rear aperture made him more cognizant of the tiny girlish steps she required.

  With Nami expected for dinner at the end of the following week, I informed Lucretia. She agreed that some form of prostate stimulation was needed. So in preparation we began to ‘open’ Bobbi with relish. His morning trip down the stairs became quite a challenge and the occasional grimace evidenced his penis’s reaction to the pressure. But within a week I was able to easily slide in a two-inch plug, leaving Nami with a moderate but not insurmountable challenge for her demonstration.

  On the day of Nami’s visit, Lucretia took Bobbi to the beauty parlor. The proprietor was an old friend of Lucretia’s and shared many of her proclivities, thus Bobbi was welcome even though his true gender was apparent to the cosmeticians.

  “We have a couple of Bobbi’s type for clients. None as pretty,” the woman related to Lucretia, as Bobbi blushed.

  And so under the owner’s supervision two teenaged girls worked on Bobbi. When I returned home from the Sperm Bank with Nami, we were greeted at the door by the most effeminate of maids. Bobbi was alluring in short skirt, stockings and extreme heels. His hair was perfect and his make up, although heavy, was without blemish. In his hands was a highly polished silver tray with two glasses of chilled white wine. With his practiced curtsy, Nami’s smile broke into an uncharacteristic giggle as she accepted the offered glass.

  “On Miangas, he’d be naked, in shackles with a well whipped backside and perhaps with his genitals clamped to imbue concentration,” Nami commented after her first sip.

  “But I suppose the results speak for themselves.”

  Bobbi seemed to shudder with the description and he turned carefully on his heels to retreat to the kitchen.

  We sat in the living room and talked. Since Nami referenced Miangas and my brief research had left me with many questions, I asked her about the curious island in the Philippines. She replied at length. In the beginning, she reiterated things I had already learned, but politeness dictated that I not interrupt. And by the time Lucretia knocked and entered, Nami had me enthralled with stories of her early life on the female dominant island.

  I learned that the women of Miangas were pioneers in artificial insemination. After developing the ability to survive and later thrive without significant male input, the masculine gender had very little impact on Miangas social life. Intimacy with the ‘stronger sex’ was deemed inappropriate and later became taboo.

  The system developed after the inter-island war for the collection of sperm from the few surviving males was continued after the males were permitted to repopulate. The women learned to impregnate themselves utilizing hollow reeds, which were carefully smoothed through weeks of sanding and polishing (a dismal task deemed suitable only for males). The collected sperm was inserted into the reed and carefully implanted during ovulation.

  As stated, males became beasts of burden unless they learned a higher skill, such as making dildos for the women. Nami’s description of the weary Miangas males dutifully working day in and day out to craft implements designed to make the penis superfluous I found to be most ironic.

  And what one would assume to be rudimentary restraint devices were actually rather ingenious. The genitals of most intact males were carefully entwined with a thin strand of leather. Known in the D/s culture as a ‘divide and conquer’ cock and ball restraint, Nami explained that the women of Miangas has been securing the male genitals for generations by painstakingly separating the testicles within the scrotum. Encircling one gonad around the connecting veins and ducts with a single length of thin leather, encircling the second gonad, than back and forth between the testicles. The remaining length of cord was than spun about the shaft of the penis from the base to the tip. There the end was tied off and after the leather was moistened the resulting restraint became the equivalent of a ‘Gordian’ knot, the shrinking leather tightening about the penis and scrotum making it impossible to remove without cutting.

  An open loop on the underside of the scrotum facilitated linking the subservient male to a leash. Nami related childhood scenes of observing a woman on horseback leading a half dozen naked males through the streets of her village by one long rope connected in a series of 12 pink and swollen male eggs, their destination being the nearby farm.

  Recalcitrant males found their leather restraint moistened often, and as the leather slowly dried and shrank, providing pressure and torment on the sensitive male organs, behavior modified accordingly.

  Nami smiled with the reminiscence of particularly truculent males with their testicles well tied and comically protruding far to the left and right. The peculiar sight was the equivalent of a ‘scarlet letter’ forewarning all of the presence of a particularly obstinate male who preferred to slowly sacrifice his organs rather than submit to the Dominant female.

  Unauthorized cutting or removal of the genital cord received the ultimate punishment. And after alteration came a lifetime sentence in the yoke where the drudgery of pumping water for the village became life’s final pursuit.

  All intimate contact was initiated by the female. For a male to merely touch a female without authorization was deemed equivalent to rape, the punishment for which was slow and drastic.

  Some of the women preferred the touch of the submissive male tongue and spent much time and effort training and stretching the appendage to suit their tastes. Others merely utilized the highly crafted dildos, sometimes mounting one on the well restrained groin area of a male and riding to ecstasy, the male’s frustration of being proximate to the female orgasm yet being denied relief an additional satisfying taunt to the emasculated male.

  Nami’s stories were fascinating and had Bobbi not announced dinner, Lucretia and I could have listened all night. I particularly enjoyed watching Bobbi’s reaction to some of the descriptions of harsh male servitude. He cringed in a wonderfully effeminate fashion, Lucretia having constantly inculcated feminine thought and mannerisms throughout his days of serving her.

  During dinner the subject of conver
sation turned to Bobbi. Our obedient maid served with perfection and in mid meal Lucretia decided to test our servant’s resolve, commanding that Bobbi remove her short skirt. Bobbi blushed like a schoolgirl but returned with dessert sans skirt. His chastity belt gleamed in the light like a chrome ornament, and Nami was spellbound by the extreme level of restraint and control.

  “It does appear to be marvelously permanent,” she commented, as she assertively beckoned Bobbi to move closer to her chair.

  For the next minute the well-trained nurse, still garbed in her starched white uniform, subjected Bobbi to an inspection. Her hands smoothed over the metal, down his bare thighs then back to his buttocks. There, knowing fingers toyed with the butt plug Lucretia had procured for him and she laughed at the reaction, an initial sign of pleasure then a grimace from Bobbi.

  “Yes,” she concluded with a smile. “His penis is well secured. A little prostate stimulation causes discomfort. Very good.”

  Nami’s right hand slipped between Bobbi’s thighs and evidently massaged his perineum. This time Bobbi yelped as his penis stiffened and the engorged flesh met the unseen teeth of the bracelet encircling his frenulum.

  Another smile from Nami.

  “He needs milking. The prostate seems swollen. I’ll know better with a full examination after dinner.”

  Our embarrassed maid returned to the kitchen, this time with orders to strip completely and return with coffee. I could hear Bobbi begin to sniffle in a marvelously effeminate reaction of bashful reluctance. But within ten minutes he returned, wearing heels, cap, and chastity belt. Nothing else.

  “Very nice depilation and his skin is so smooth.”

  Nami played with his nipples as he poured coffee. We all stifled a laugh as the pink nubs stood at attention.

  “The hormonal buildup is most evident. His nipples react like those of a little girl. Have you thought of having him grow breasts? It’s very easy these days with all the new drugs.”