At Her Command

by Dana Drake

  Nathan carried one bag and rolled the other behind as they exited the elevator. Bridget stopped in front of room 216 and opened the door with the keycard. He followed her into the well-appointed room. A Dark Quest welcome bag with their names was on the credenza beside a fruit basket. Bridget removed the bottle of lube, blue hospital-style wristbands, complimentary drink tickets, a schedule of events, and a second copy of the house rules. Street legal attire is required in all public areas of the hotel. This includes the lobby, restaurants, bar, corridors, hallways, and stairs. Nudity is only permitted in private hotel rooms and designated play spaces. Bridget snapped hers closed on her wrist. “I guess these are our admission passes.”

  Bridget dressed in a tight, black leather skirt, matching halter, and five inch black pumps. Nathan dressed in the black tee shirt and pants she’d picked out for him. “There is a mixer in thirty minutes that I want to attend.” She handed him the complimentary drink tickets.” I’m leaving my purse in the safe; bring your wallet.” Nathan fastened his wristband, patted his wallet through his black pants, and slipped the keycard in his front pocket.

  *****

  They passed a security guard at the ballroom entrance; he glanced at their wristbands and nodded. Nathan shed his clothes and followed Bridget. A uniformed bartender stood behind a cash bar in the corner. A line of leather-daddies, cross-dressers, new agers, kinksters, and swingers, dressed in costumes that would appeal to nearly any fetishist’s dreams, waited for their turn at the bar. Bridget engaged a similarly dressed, leather-clad blonde, wearing thigh-high boots, as Nathan moved through the line. A dyke sporting a high-and-tight crew cut, gave him an evil stare when he looked at her date, a waifish girly-girl in a little black dress. He carried two glasses of white wine to Bridget.

  “Inga, this is my slave, Nathan.” The woman’s eyes were as blue as Bridget’s. Both women stood two inches taller than Nathan, and looked down at him with the same look of amusement at his discomfort.

  “How long have you kept him in chastity?” Inga asked, casually looking at Nathan’s crotch, and not caring who noticed. Nathan felt the color rise in his cheeks.

  “Six months.”

  “Do you allow him masturbate?” Her accent was European, perhaps Swedish.

  “Occasionally.”

  “Do you milk him?”

  “No, that’s the main reason we came. I saw there was a workshop on prostate milking.” Inga looked at Nathan and smiled.

  “I’m leading the workshop tomorrow.” A feeling of panic swept over him.

  “I’ll need a male instructional subject to participate in the demonstration.”

  “Do you plan to milk him in front of the workshop?” Bridget touched Inga’s forearm and smiled, eyes twinkling.

  “Yes, of course, if you will permit it.”

  “There’s nothing I’d rather see.”

  “I believe in the old adage, see one, do one, teach one.” Nathan realized he’d been holding his breath and gasped, taking in a deep breath and spilling his wine.

  “Let’s get a table, Inga. I’d like to pick your brain.” Bridget handed Nathan their empty wines glasses. Get Inga and me another drink.” Nathan watched them slink away arm and arm, as most of the room stared at the tall women who could have passed for sisters. He had to hunt for them in the crowded room, but found them after circling the ballroom twice. He handed each woman a glass and sat down beside Bridget.

  “He’s not used to wearing clothes or sitting on the furniture when he’s with me.” Inga looked at Nathan and then looked back at Bridget.

  “So he’s a real slave, how nice. My late husband was my slave for ten years.” Bridget’s happy face turned sad.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”

  “A little over a year. He was a very health conscious man, careful of what he ate, and he exercised daily. He developed lung cancer, never having smoked. At least it was quick.” Bridget patted Inga’s hand. “I kept him in chastity the entire ten years, milking his prostate three times a week. It brought us very close. He was totally dependant on me.”

  “I know the obvious benefits, they are well documented. What are the less well-known benefits, Inga?” The tall blonde woman sipped her wine before setting down the glass.

  “The essence of prostate milking as it relates to male chastity is that it rids the body of seminal fluid, flushing the prostate, while not providing the mental release provided by a male orgasm. When a male achieves orgasm he temporarily loses interest in sex. It might be six hours or it might be twenty-four hours. It depends on the man’s age and general health. During that time, he becomes complacent, lazy, and loses focus on his role of pleasing his mistress. Proper administration of a secure chastity device enables a woman to perpetually deny her slave an orgasm, keeping him in a state of sexual frustration and denial. Prostate massage ensures good prostate health, stimulates a closer bond, and provides needed humiliation.”

  Nathan picked up their glasses without being told and walked to the bar. Twenty yards from the table he stopped, nearly dropping the glasses. One of Bridget’s five-inch pumps lay on the floor beside its mate as Inga caressed Bridget’s bare foot in her lap. Neither woman turned as he set the wineglasses on the table. They continued their conversation in hushed tones, both giggling every few seconds as they blushed pink. Bridget turned to Nathan.

  “Have room service send a bottle to our room. We’re going up now.” Bridget reached under the table and replaced her shoe. Both women stood and walked out of the ballroom arm in arm. Nathan remembered that he had the only key card and rushed after them. He watched the doors close on the crowded elevator when he was twenty-feet away, turned, and rushed into the stair tower. He took the steps two at a time, grappling with the handrail, racing the elevator. He stepped onto the second floor as the elevator door opened, panting, and holding the open door for them when they arrived. “Did you order the wine?”

  “I remembered you didn’t have a key and thought I should let you in first.” Bridget nodded and led Inga into the room by the hand. They fell into each other’s arms before Nathan could close the door, kissing and exploring each others bodies. Nathan went to the desk and ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, two glasses, and a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  Bridget lay naked on the bed when he opened the door, black hair loose and flowing on the white pillow. Nathan stared, feeling the heat wash over him. Inga knelt at the bottom of the bed sucking Bridget’s exquisite toes, wearing nothing but black thong panties. “Undress slave,” Bridget panted. “Get naked and worship Inga’s ass.” Nathan shed his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor by the credenza. He could almost hear his heart pounding as he climbed on the queen-sized bed behind Inga. Tan lines and the black thong accented the creamy white skin of her firm buttocks. Nathan’s anus clenched the steel butt-plug. His imprisoned cock twitched, causing the Steelheart to rock up and down. Bridget moaned and cooed as Inga kissed her nipples and caressed her belly.

  Inga didn’t miss a beat as Nathan slipped her thong panties down her thighs. He leaned close and parted her firm buttocks, breathing in her musky essence, studying her tight, dusky, wrinkled anus. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against her firm buttocks. Inga sighed and quivered as he ran his tongue over her wrinkled flesh. Nathan got lost between her buttocks reveling in her sweet taste and scent, as Bridget’s and Inga’s moans of pleasure rang his ears. “Stick... your... finger... in... my... pussy,” Inga panted.

  Nathan caressed the patch of blonde fuzz atop her smooth vulva, and ran his fingers over her warm, damp labia. Bridget moaned as Inga began bathing her pussy with her tongue. Inga arched her back as Nathan inserted one, then two fingers into her pussy, as he pressed his tongue into her tight asshole. “Oh...that feels so good, slave,” Inga gasped as Nathan finger-fucked her. “Tongue my asshole, slave.” Inga’s dirty talk pushed Bridget over the edge.

  “I’m going to come, now, ahhh.” She writhed on the sheets under Inga. Inga r
ose on her knees and pinched her nipples; her anus clenched Nathan’s finger, as her orgasm swept through her like a rogue wave. She cried out something in Swedish, and lowered herself onto Bridget’s body. They kissed. Inga slid to the bed and lay beside Bridget. Nathan knelt at the bottom of the bed and stared at the two beautiful women, radiating their post-orgasmic glow, his swollen balls aching, anus clenching his butt plug, and longing eating away at his insides.

  *****

  Nathan showered, shaved, and dressed before dawn. He brought them coffee, yogurt, and fruit from the breakfast buffet, removed his clothes and knelt at Bridget’s feet as they chatted and breakfasted. “Do you give your slave enemas?” Inga asked. Nathan tightened his anus, clenching the butt-plug.

  “No, I haven’t. I keep him plugged most of the time and have used a prostate massager on him.”

  “I don’t want to have an accident today during the workshop. Do you mind if I give him an enema beforehand?” Nathan felt woozy, off-balance.

  “Not at all, but I don’t have any equipment.”

  “I carry a can and syringes when I travel. They are in my room.” Inga and Bridget showered together as Nathan knelt on the bathroom floor. Both women dressed in tight, black leather pants. Bridget sported a new leather bustier that accented her tiny waist and large breasts. Inga’s red leather corset accented her fair skin and blonde hair. Inga went to her room and returned with a small nylon duffle. Nathan watched her unpack the bag and place the two-quart medical grade steel can on the counter. She attached a rubber hose, a valve, and a disposable enema catheter.

  “Most people make the mistake of getting too small a can.” Nathan watched them going over the setup as if he weren’t there. Inga held up the catheter. “It’s a retention catheter. One bulb goes inside the anus and the other stays outside. By inflating them, the liquid is trapped inside the colon and can’t be expelled until they are deflated.”

  “Are you going to do it now?” Bridget asked. Nathan blushed crimson as both women looked at him.

  “Yes, I think now is a good time. Put some towels on the bed and I’ll prepare the enema.” Nathan watched the women, the way a prisoner watches a gallows being built outside his cell, with a mixture of dread and frightened curiosity. Inga set the can on the nightstand.

  “Go into the bathroom and remove your butt-plug, slave.” He followed Bridget’s command, washed the shiny, stainless, teardrop-shaped plug, and lay atop the towels on the bed.

  “Turn on your left side, slave,” Inga said. She moved Nathan’s right knee toward his chest and slightly turned his hips. Her touch was electric, as she parted his buttocks and inserted the lubricated catheter. Nathan felt the inner balloon swell inside his belly, as she squeezed the bulb four times. “Four is all you need. No need to overinflate.” The outer balloon forced his buttocks apart slightly as she inflated it. “The trick is to only release a small amount of water at a time, no more than half a cup.” Nathan tried to relax as the warm liquid seeped into his bowels. “If you start to cramp, slave, take deep breaths and massage your belly.”

  Inga slowly emptied almost two quarts of warm, scented water into Nathan’s belly, as he massaged his body and drew in deep breaths through his nose. She closed the valve. “How long do you leave it in?” Bridget stared at Nathan’s belly for signs of distention.

  “I like to wait ten or fifteen minutes to let it do its job and loosen everything. He’ll be squeaky clean and small fresh as a spring morning.” Both women giggled. A sharp cramp seized Nathan. “Breathe, slave.” Fifteen minutes later, Inga led him to the bathroom. I’m going to let you release the pressure after you re seated on the water closet. Let the pressure go down and then remove the catheter. Then evacuate your bowels.” She pointed to the empty catheter package on the vanity. “Rinse it off, put it back in the package, and throw it in the trash, then shower.” She pulled the door closed behind her. Nathan sighed, grateful that at least, that his humiliation was private. He released the pressure. Two quarts of filthy water gushed out of his anus, forcing out the catheter, soiling the toilet and splashing against his backside. The foul odor made him gag. He flushed before rising and gagged again as he felt more filthy water splash against his buttocks. He stepped into the shower and scrubbed his body with soap and a washcloth, lathering his skin and rinsing, over and over.

  Bridget was alone when he stepped out of the bathroom. “Inga went ahead to set up.” She pointed to a new pair of white Calvin Klein briefs and a white wife beater tee shirt. “Put those on. I don’t want to keep Inga waiting.” She buckled the black leather collar around his neck and attached the leash. Nathan slipped on a heavy terrycloth robe over his underwear, stepped into a pair of flip-flops, and followed Bridget, who led him by the leash to the meeting room. The hotel had closed the dividers in the ballroom creating six meeting rooms. Nathan stared at the schedule posted on the wall: Using Meditation to Enhance the Submissive Experience, Creative Bondage, Enhanced Impact Play, and Male Chastity and the Prostate, were the fist round of workshops. His heart nearly stopped when he saw Inga at the front of the room and an audience of at least two-dozen people, mostly couples, sitting in folding chairs.

  Inga’s flashed her perfect, white teeth in a smile, as Bridget led Nathan to the front of the room. Bridget kissed her on the cheek and handed her the leash. “I promise to take good care of him.” Nathan stood stock still, ashamed to make eye contact with the audience, as Inga removed the robe. “You may kneel, slave,” she said quietly. Nathan knelt on the floor and cast his eyes down, dreading what was to come.

  “Good morning,” Inga said in a strong voice. The audience responded. “How many of you practice male chastity?” Nathan saw a half dozen women raise their hands, along with one, obviously gay man whose slim, smooth partner was kneeling at his feet. Three of the couples appeared to be two women. Nathan suspected they were women and feminized men. The sudden realization that he’d be powerless to resist if Bridget decided to feminize him, got his mind off the humiliation that awaited him in minutes. The feminized men could definitely pass. Two of them were slimmer and much prettier than their wives.

  Inga turned on the LCD projector and an anatomical diagram of the human male abdomen flashed on the screen. “The prostate is a walnut-sized gland located between the bladder and the base of the penis.” She highlighted the salmon -colored image on the screen with a red laser-pointer. “The prostate is just in front of the rectum. The urethra passes through it, from the bladder to the penis, allowing urine to flow from the body. This is why prostate enlargement affects urination in older men. During ejaculation, the prostate secretes fluid that nourishes and protects sperm cells. This fluid combines with fluid from the testes to form semen.” She shut down the projector.

  “Expelling prostate fluid on a regular basis is important for a male to remain healthy. This is an issue for couples who practice chastity and orgasm control, but it needn’t be an obstacle. Regular prostate massage, promotes good health, reinforces the submissive partner’s dependence, and can be very humiliating.” Nathan froze for an instant when Inga picked up his leash. He crawled beside her to the massage table, ashamed to look up. She patted the table. He climbed on it and remained on his hands and knees. She placed her palm on the small of his back. “Let’s get these off you,” Inga said as she pulled the white briefs down, exposing his buttocks and caged penis. “This is Mistress Bridget’s slave.” She pulled them down to his knees, and then all the way off, leaving him wearing only the white, sleeveless tee shirt. “As you can see, she uses a steel chastity device to control stimulation of his penis and his ability to get an erection. She is cuckolding him and denying him orgasms.”

  Nathan heard more than one gasp from the audience, and lots of whispers. “Mistress Bridget is attending Dark Quest to learn prostate milking techniques. She brought her slave here today, and kindly offered him to me for this demonstration.” Nathan winced at the sound of vinyl gloves slapping against her wrists. “Good hygiene enhances the
experience. I administered a two quart enema a little over an hour ago.” She placed her gloved hand between Nathan’s shoulder blades. “Rest your head on your forearms,” she whispered.

  “Vinyl gloves and a good quality lubricant are all you really need to get started.” She placed a small towel on the bench. “I’m using a towel to catch the secretions, but some doms like to capture the discharge in a condom or glass, and make the sub to ingest it, as a further sign of their dominance.” Nathan cringed at the sound of lubricant squirting from a tube. “The easiest way to remember hand positioning is this: if the sub is facing you want your palm up, and you want to move your finger this way, in the come here signal. If the sub is facing away, it’s palm down. In this instance which do I use?”

  “Palm down,” the class said in unison.

  “Very good!” Nathan held his breath as Inga rubbed lube between his buttocks and across his anus. He gasped as she inserted one, and then two fingers. “I’m only going to use one finger to massage his prostate, but I’m using two fingers to open him up first.” Nathan took in a deep breath through his nose and tried to relax. He flinched when she first pressed against his prostate, afraid he’d urinate.

  “Relax, slave. I see I’m in the right place,” Inga whispered. Nathan felt precum ooze from his penis into the Steelheart. His anus tightened on Inga’s finger in spite of his effort to relax. He felt a dribble from his penis, followed by a weak stream. “Notice the semen dripping from his chastity device,” Inga told the students. “By massaging the prostate, I’m stimulating it to expel its contents.” Nathan began panting like a dog.

  “Is the slave having an orgasm?” a woman asked.

  “No, that’s the beauty of prostate milking.” Inga continued as Nathan writhed, semen dripping on the towel. “We have the health benefit of ejaculation, without the emotional benefit. This slave has been locked in chastity for several months. He is kept in a constant state of sexual hunger. This does nothing to satisfy that hunger.” A steady, weak stream flowed from Nathan’s flaccid penis and out of the Steelheart. He tried not to groan and rotate his hips, but was helpless to stop himself. Five minutes seemed like five hours, until Inga removed her finger and peeled off her gloves.