The Chris Bellows' Collection

by Chris Bellows

  So tonight, the recliner rests most proximate to the suspension frame where I can relax and view Willie’s profile while Peetie licks me into ecstasy. I sit, lift my legs and spread to place my legs on the ‘V’. Then I lie back to view my naked and restrained servant. My long arm wields a whippy length of rattan and to test the positioning I reach out and tap his cute and hairless left ass cheek.

  The most effective instrument of correction instantly sends its message of pain, of course. And I smile as the slight anguish causes Willie to dance some more, which tightens the neck chains, which in turn pressures his collar, which causes more spinal agitation, which further stiffens that plump, upstanding penis.

  Meanwhile Peetie knows to commence with his tongue. He begins as trained, thrusting that alacritous appendage between my labia majora to find the sensitive inner folds where he knows to swish and swirl. In a few moments my swollen purple clitoris will be engulfed and I will have to repress squeals of girlish delight.

  The evening will be long and pleasurable.

  Chapter Sixty Six

  Willie

  The sensation is freakishly wondrous. There is something about the neck collar and the tension on my spinal cord that brings an instant need for my penis to stand. And I am heartened to feel Miss Benson finally cut and remove the simple yet controlling strand of plastic holding my glans penis captive in its sheath. It celebrates and obediently amuses my tormenting landlady.

  As Miss Benson has suggested, my feet dance in futile attempts to find terra firma, and my lurching seems to further stimulate my tumescence. My hood is removed and I find that my penis is standing so high and rigid that I can see the tip in my lower gaze, despite my inability to move my head.

  Then I feel hands...soft, but strong hands as Miss Benson tenderly draws my heavy sac back between my spread thighs. I feel her press her forbidden body against my naked flesh. She is without clothing! The warmth of her breasts and the bullet-hard nipples spur my imagination to libidinous thoughts.

  My heart leaps, as seemingly does my manhood and my feet thrash about to seek purchase again. She mocks my ‘dancing’, then disappointingly slips away. I cannot turn my head to see, but know she’s nearby. Then I feel a horrid sting. Something strikes my left cheek and I of course react with more dancing which in turn increases the strange spinal tension and sends more signals for my penis to swell. How much bigger can it get? I wonder.

  “I had forgotten how big you are, Willie. Poor Peetie is so envious, aren’t you Peetie.”

  I know by the affectation of her words that Peetie is once again portraying a poodle. Then I hear the slight sound of slurping, such as I listen almost nightly while hooded and lying in Miss Benson’s bed.

  So as I perform my ‘dance’, Miss Benson is being serviced. And I know firsthand how deeply Peetie’s tongue can explore and the abundant juices his nimble lips can foster.

  Then comes the sound of a crisp thwack and indescribably sharp pain. I scream and wrench within my bonds. Miss Benson laughs.

  “Interesting...the reaction to pain...isn’t it, Willie? You vocally protest but your burgeoning organ suggests a belying acceptance. I think it becomes harder. Perhaps it’s enjoyment. Let’s see.”

  Another thwack...more pain. I dance and the chains create tension. I cannot see but I can indeed believe that my massive erection has become firmer.

  I silently curse my reaction and in listening to Peetie’s assiduous tongue and lips I in turn become envious of him...blessed with the duty of merely crawling about on all fours and servicing Miss Benson. And he remains sighted! Free to gaze at her nakedness!

  I quickly conclude that the evening will be long. Miss Benson is evidently in an extreme orgasmic mode, relishing the feel of Peetie’s rampaging tongue, and it is probable that my entertaining erection will not desist. And then there’s this peculiar reaction to the pain...

  Chapter Sixty Seven

  Annette Benson

  A brisk half dozen strokes, leisurely applied while Peetie fervently laps, and after an hour the scene makes me thirsty. Given a few minutes rest, my libido will not only return, but also thrive. So a pause for refreshments can serve multiple purposes.

  I get a heady sense of power strolling about in nothing but knee high leather boots... and to think that such have been thoroughly cleaned and brought to high polish by the oral efforts of my most frustrated and subservient sycophant.

  “Stay, Peetie.”

  I arise and feel the room air wafting about my wet pubes area as I retreat to the kitchen for wine. Willie faces away from the stairs and I cannot help giggling as he strains in his bonds to turn to look at me.

  ‘Some day, Willie’, I think to myself, such a thought spurring imagined scenes of delightful debauchery. For only the altered Peetie is currently bestowed with the privilege of viewing my well-toned, yet feminine charms.

  In the kitchen I encounter the inconvenience of having both my pets serving in bondage. For I must labor to fill my own ice bucket and uncork a Chablis. But within moments as I return I find that the brief interlude has restored my need for attention. In traversing the stairs, however, I encounter a very disobedient Peetie. I am both shocked and amused to see that he has pushed the low stool between Willie’s spread legs. His front paws are perched on the base of the device to provide access to Willie’s low-hanging testicles. I am further amused to see his tongue flicking away, but unable to reach his prize: Willie’s upstanding penis, the stiffness bringing the purple tip to a point above his navel.

  It’s a cute scene, but Peetie’s disobedience will not go unpunished. But for now I will roll with the scene. I set the ice bucket on a nearby table, immerse the Chablis and join my homoerotic canine.

  Peetie laps away ardently while Willie kicks his feet, futilely attempting to thwart the oral assault. I cannot help but heighten the ignominy by standing to his side, where my image remains out of focus, then gently encircling the base of his penis shaft and slowly bending it downward in reach of Peetie’s questing tongue. Having a woman touch that which has been so neglected excites; bending the organ in such an awkward direction brings torment. The strange combination of sensations leads to highlighted kicks of the feet and my amused laughter. With the thigh straps keeping his legs well parted, Willie can use his feet to neither ward off Peetie, nor my controlling hand. After a few moments there is a return to idleness, Willie realizing that all motion is fruitless. He is powerless; I am omnipotent.

  Despite the extreme stiffness, a firm hand and well-muscled arm soon has Willie’s penis pointing downward where I can offer it to Peetie. I know the male anatomy well enough to understand that Willie’s pent-up supply of spermatic ammunition will never be discharged with his male rifle cocked at such an acute downward angle. And when the glistening purple tip comes within range, Peetie immediately abandons his oral assault on Willie’s balls and hungrily takes in the massive glans penis like a snake swallowing its prey.

  I add to Willie’s sensations by ever so slightly moving to his front to momentarily expose to his gaze my fine nakedness. He’s long been kept chaste and has such a delightful reaction in straining to look down at my nakedness.

  A glimpse is all I care to offer, so with my mischief completed, I return to pour a glass of wine and watch the antics as my orally gifted castrate fervently works Willie’s penis. The Chablis first cools then the alcohol permeates the nervous system to both warm and relax. I resume sitting...lying actually...in the recliner and pick up the cane. I will introduce Willie to the most diverse sensations of pleasure and pain...unsurpassed fellatio and crisp strokes of the cane.

  I begin with a notable stroke to the right buttock and with Willie’s comical vocal reaction it is difficult to determine whether the exquisite pleasure or the intense pain has captured the attention of his nervous system. I also know that he has an aversion to homosexual fellation.

  ‘Goodness, poor Willie has so much on his mind; the stimulus must be overwhelming,’ I think to myself in s
ipping more Chablis.

  Then I stroke again. The kicks become more animated. Oh the pain...the pleasure... the degradation...and for me...the exhilaration.

  Chapter Sixty Eight

  Willie

  Peetie is sucking on my penis!

  Whereas I have become accustomed to his tender oral endeavors during shower time, he has not before been able to caress my entrapped penis tip. Now, seemingly not only with Ms. Benson’s consent, but with her approval, Peetie’s nimble tongue brazenly works my stiff but bent manhood...and doing a whale of a job of it, at that. What suction! Being sucked by a male feels so shameful...and yet, this feels heavenly. It’s been so long…

  What’s this? Ms. Benson briefly shows herself, attired only in knee high leather boots and....what a sight for sore eyes! Oh, she’s disappeared…and then again with the cane!

  Despite the intense pain simultaneously inflicted, with my pent-up need to spill my seed, I find myself helplessly thrusting into Peetie’s mouth to create welcomed friction. The talented cock sucker squeals; I am chagrined to find Peetie enjoys his subjugation...all male pride having been plundered along with his balls.

  I am disgusted yet desperate to climax. But with my erection angled so awkwardly I cannot. And so I continue to entertain, hearing Ms. Benson’s laughter as I struggle to ejaculate, thrusting ineffectively with my hips and kicking away with every vicious stroke of her cane.

  “The wine is perfectly chilled, Willie,” she tauntingly suggests after the fourth stroke and my overwhelmed nervous system strains to process the conflicting sensations. “Wouldn’t you love to have a sip…just to cool off a little?”

  Peetie’s tongue swirls with abandon.

  Chapter Sixty Nine

  Annette Benson

  Watching the helpless male try so hard to greedily bring himself to ejaculation, I can bask in the exchange of power for an entire Saturday night.

  But unfortunately the pain from my crisp and whippy cane slowly overrides the pleasure that Willie experiences from Peetie’s tongue and lips. I begin to detect a slow lessening in his attention on his desire to expend, and I can see the obvious transition to flaccidity.

  But it is no matter. There is just enough wine remaining to refill my glass one more time as bedtime approaches. And so I pause with the cane and call for Peetie. He immediately desists his fellatio and Willie’s penis springs upwards as Peetie withdraws his lips. It is still firm but not the ‘diamond cutter’ of moments earlier. It is shiny with Peetie’s saliva and I cannot resist stroking those hairless buttocks one more time to make his erection waggle and balls heavily sway between spread thighs.

  Meanwhile Peetie dutifully crawls to the recliner and resumes his position between my thighs. Even though our interlude of fellatio was brief, my loins are flaming and what better way to extinguish the fire than with the wet and servile tongue of my little castrate.

  While he licks and sucks, I reach out with the tip of the cane and jostle Willie’s engorged sacs. They look inflated; surely they must be ultra-sensitive. For a little guy Willie has sizable organs and despite the regimen of extreme degradation, I can detect a semblance of pride in being so well endowed. Yet it is comforting for a woman of Dominance to know that such pride will only be displayed at Her behest. For Willie to hang naked and spread, his penis swollen and standing to the maximum, it is akin to a show dog patiently posing for his Master.

  Should I permit such temerity?

  I ponder this while soaking up the waves of pleasure from Peetie’s devoted tongue. When he begins sucking on my clitoris in earnest I cannot help but close my eyes and cry out in a climactic orgasm. When after several moments, I open them again, I see Willie’s manhood has returned to its status of steel-made-flesh. So he responds to vicarious pleasure...a mental and psychological sanguineness in knowing that I am satiated and he has served as catalyst.

  Peetie knows to withdraw as I compose myself, his tongue playfully lapping about my pubes and outer labia to assure that my quim is presentable and he has consumed as much of my essence as possible. Within moments I push away his head to rise and prepare for bed.

  Since Willie has become as firm as he’s been most of the evening, I retrieve the ice bucket and position the stool under his exposed crotch. I pile up some old books. The bucket can be raised to immerse Willie’s plump testicles in the freezing slush. But before arranging for the “cold shower”, I can’t resist palming the warm, pink and hairless sac…and pause to revel in the vulnerability of the subjugated organs. I am tempted to squeeze until he screams, faints and joins Peetie in his genderless world of Peter Pan. But, taking a deep breath, I refrain and instead plunk the plums into the chilled wetness, beginning the first step toward renewed infibulation.

  I move to his side to watch as the iciness numbs and the fascinating process of detumescence begins. It can be just as enjoyable to observe the male being forcibly deflated as forcibly made to stand. A Dominant woman is returning the frustratingly ungratified male organs to thorough chastity. Though I am sure Peetie took in much prostatic fluid, I did not permit Willie to come. Such power...

  “Maybe next time I will have you ejaculate, Willie,” I casually suggest in a tantalizing tone of voice.

  Within moments the sheepishly proud phallus is shriveled, retreating into it wrinkling sheath. I find a new plastic lock and decide to give Willie something about which he can dream for this evening and many to come. I stand before him in the buff, the nipples of my firm breasts seeming to rise in greeting. I so present myself while I pinch the foreskin and work to align his openings with the locking strand of plastic.

  I look up and smile to see him craning his collared neck, straining to look down and gaze at my nakedness. For Willie, it’s a rare treat.

  “You know, Willie, for your upcoming graduation, I may take you on a trip to Mexico. After which you’ll never again need to be hooded while I am cavorting about naked. And you’ll have access to all that Peetie now devoutly services.”

  Despite the satiating effects of Peetie’s prolonged oral attention, the thought brings a sharp, new twinge between my thighs. The suggestion of taking another subservient male to the Mexican clinic and crushing his balls, ensuring a lifetime of pixilated submission, renews my lust.

  Even Peetie reacts to the notion with delight. He crawls to my rear and I feel his tongue penetrate my gluteal cleft, deeply swishing my rear aperture with abandon.

  With a soft click, the simple but effective strand of plastic returns Willie to his state of complete chastity.

  “You’d enjoy taking such a trip, wouldn’t you Willie? Meanwhile, I’ll have you hanging here every weekend. I’m going to begin stretching your scrotum. I want those luscious plums hanging halfway to your knees. It will take many hours for many days and during the slow anguish you can think about the eventual journey. With two years until graduation you have time to consider the prospect. Such prideful erections you’ll be showing me in the meantime. And then you’ll enjoy flaunting that proud phallus for one last time in Mexico. The women we’ll visit will be very impressed...for a short time. They are very accomplished in governing subordinate males and know precisely how to handle a boy like you. As you can see, Peetie came back very happy from his Mexican visit...”

  My fingers gently tug the lock to ensure that the penis is well captured. Then I look up to detect that Willie is attempting to nod. How delightfully curious!

  Becoming Miss Ashley's Pet

  A D/s Divorce

  Prologue - Corky

  The sleek jet turns to make its final approach. In the crystal blue sky of the Caribbean the rays of the afternoon sun cause the smooth white surface to scintillate, spawning a provocative glint in announcing the arrival of civilization on an island secluded from most things manmade.

  “Miss Duval, she be here soon, Corky.”

  Big Sam’s deep staccatoed voice narrates the apparent. The mammoth island native seems to assume that my dumbness transcends to blindness or general
unawareness. Thus he vocalizes the obvious in a constant string of aphorisms. Most concern the weather, which in the equatorial climate rarely changes. Yet in Big Sam’s mind, every sunrise requires a welcoming proclamation, lest the expected radiance demur and fail to spread its glorious warmth.

  “You be happy to see her.”

  Big Sam’s language skills are rudimentary but complement well the limited functional level of his naive intellect.

  Happy? Of course, I reflect. Any misgivings have long been driven from my consciousness. With Miss Duval’s arrival the island will come to life, the small native population scurrying about to please their Queen. Miss Duval owns the entire 5,000 acres. And though technically part of the French Lesser Antilles, Montserrat, the nearest island, is twenty miles away. There has been no government intervention on Miss Duval’s enclave for years. As stated, she is royalty, a defacto Queen.

  The landing gear extends. The flaps lower to make the silhouette of the Citation X, reputedly the fastest private jet in the sky, transform into that of an aquatic bird preparing to break the mirrored surface of a still pond. As the tires chirp with the friction of initial rotation, I feel the expected tug.

  “You know how Miss Duval like you, Corky. She bring guests.”

  A black hand the size of a coconut tightens on my leash and pulls. The thick steel neck collar, the interior diameter spiked to assure instant supplication, performs its function, transforming the wearer into the obedient dog of a controlling Master. I right myself at the waist, no longer idling on knees and elbows. If Big Sam wants me kneeling upright then upright I will be. I have long learned that resistance is futile... complete obeisance inviolable.