Chapter Ten - Corky
I find myself trembling with the touch of this Miss Mary. Her hands are soft but there is something unfeminine about the manner, the demeanor, the approach. She pokes and prods with an annoying familiarity as if she knows my body... as though she has before groped, and done so with impunity.
Yes, though the girl is five to ten years my junior, her confident savoir faire belies her age and even if not physically restrained and psychologically molded into complete submission, one would tend to obey, capitulate to her knowing touch and superior air.
She finds fascination in my altered genitals... the deeply imbedded testicle piercings and my urethral alteration. Yet it is not the joy and amusement most women exhibit. Instead it is more a reaction of satisfaction... as when some irritatingly or annoyingly pretentious person receives his/her comeuppance. As if to say ‘serves you right’.
With her inspection culminating, Miss Miranda appears with a hot, moist towel for Miss Mary’s hands, coated in the residue of my skin oil.
“Ok Corky, a nice pose for my guests now,” Miss Ashley politely suggests as Miss Mary steps away.
I know her words to be a command and instantly shift on elbows and knees. Hours and hours of discipline, expended for nothing more than Miss Ashley’s amusement, have trained me to spread elbows and knees to a precise pose then lean forward, as if pointing with my nose. I also know to crane my neck, which serves to tension my control chain. Since Miss Miranda adjusted the length, pulling it taut then clipping it to my collar to eliminate a few links, I can more readily manipulate my faux tail. Thus I slowly tension the shortened chain until it pulls the tail to stand straight upwards, the desired pose.
“Good boy, Corky!”
Yes. And of course such manipulation further presses the anal insertion into my prostate. And in already being semi erect with Miss Mary’s handling, I feel myself blush as my penis slowly engorges under the watchful eyes of Miss Ashley and her half dozen guests.
Miss Ashley steps nearer to adjust. In gently drawing me to lean just a little further, pointing even more, I must strain so as not to topple forward. This adds pressure to my gland and also serves to pull my testicles more into view, bringing a tittering laughter from the observing women.
“Excellent. As you can see, Corky is nicely erect and will stay that way while posed. Shall we seat ourselves for dinner?”
Miss Ashley reaches to add the final challenge to my pose. A very fine crystal stem glass is carefully balanced on my forehead.
“Hold,” comes the simple command.
My Master steps back to survey. I know my tail is pointing vertically, my thighs strain in maintaining the forward pose, the tightened control chain has my scrotal sac prominently displayed between parted knees, my nose points forward with my head tilted back, I remain motionless, the crystal stem glass balanced on my slightly upturned forehead.
“Perfect,” a smiling Miss Ashley compliments.
My rapt audience shuffles away, but without great disappointment. The dining table is within view, mere feet from where I pose like the show dog Miss Ashley envisions and the overhead light illuminates all which my audience desires to see.
Whenever being so mentally and physically challenged I have learned to let my thoughts wander. Otherwise the slowly building cramping and a bladder filled with Miss Miranda’s offerings of water tend to wear on one’s mind.
And, of course, my meandering thoughts stumble upon the halcyon days of marriage.
The two weeks of honeymoon were curious...combining deep relaxation with exhilarating interludes, such as when Miss Ashley masturbated me to Lotta’s command. I assuaged my concerns over the ramifications of such deviant behavior, telling myself that we were many miles from civilization, that my law firm, clients, friends, etc. would never find out, and finally, in the most assuaging thought of all, so what if everyone did?
After all, with the Duval fortune, my newly acquired wealth, I no longer needed employment, clients or friends.
So I became somewhat inoculated to the quirky island escapades. Even more so after one night at the end of the first week when, upon finishing a great meal, Miss Ashley firmly suggested I was to report to bed. Our after dinner routine had been to chat a bit over an expensive port. But Miss Ashley had this insistent look. And beside, I was tired, having hiked many miles exploring the dense vegetation of the tropical island.
“I’ll join you shortly. Lotta will assist.”
So off I went to the bedroom. Since I remained naked, I was not sure with what Lotta would assist. There was no clothing to tend and I was certainly capable of brushing my own teeth. But the fact that Miss Ashley and I had gone the entire day without some form of sexual interplay, the longest interlude of chastity of our honeymoon, made me eager to feel her touch.
I opened the bedroom door and was surprised to see Lotta waiting for me. A handsome woman, as stated, somewhat matronly and some fifteen years my senior. I had learned over the days that despite being the new ‘master’ of the island estate, I was to subtly subordinate myself to her wishes. The affairs of the island were more complex than appeared and she more or less ran things.... all procurement of food and supplies, supervision of some two dozen islanders, cleaning, maintenance, keeping everything in working order with civilization twenty miles away is a chore requiring both attention and foresight. And things ran better without interference or question from a neophyte such as me. So I quickly ascertained where I was on the pecking order and stayed out of her way.
But here she was in the bedroom displaying a pleasant but confident smile. And for the first time since initially exhibiting myself without clothing days before, I felt a strange thrill, an enjoyable chill, in being in her presence, naked while she was fully clothed. I suppose it was the isolation, being alone with her.
She silently pointed to the bed and for the first time I realized there were fur lined cuffs of sturdy nylon lying on each corner of the mattress. These weren’t cheap implements purchased at some kinky sex shop, these were institutional restraints, most formidable. And each was connected to a respective bed poster. The chill broadened to noticeable goose bumps.
“If Mr. Charles will lie down, I’ll prepare him for Miss Ashley.”
Well what does one say or do? There were not many avenues of protest available. Sleep somewhere else? Call for a cab ride home? Rant? Rave?
“Big Sam can help too,” the sly Lotta added, knowing that her physically imposing husband was within easy distance.
With some degree of reservation, I laid down and found that Lotta was frightfully efficient in restraining a man. My initial compliance was not to be second guessed as wrists and ankles were facilely encircled, secured with Velcro strips and the connecting straps tightened until I lay supine and completely helpless in four point restraint. I was concerned, disquieted, but for reasons not evident.
During that morning hike, I had transcended a hill about half a mile from the plantation house. Within an otherwise thick copse was a small clearing, evidently man made in the midst of what can otherwise only be described as a jungle.
It was a small cemetery!
My initial reaction was to console myself... telling myself that the indigenous islanders had to be interred somewhere. But the lapidary of the modest headstones was succinct, disclosing little of the deceased other than first name and date of death. It was apparent to me that beloved family members would insist on something more laudatory. And the names... Chippie... Bernie... Ralphie... somewhat informal in designating consecrated ground for a loved one.
Pets? Large dogs?
Two of the dates of death preceded Miss Ashley’s date of birth. The third was more recent, just six years before. So most of whatever happened happened under the tutelage of her aunt without Miss Ashley’s knowledge or presence. But the discovery planted thoughts and those thoughts pulsed strongly in my cerebrum as Lotta tightened the last strap. When she brandished a menacing straight edged razor the thoughts t
urned to frenzy.
“Miss Ashley want you smooth.”
I calmed myself as the experienced hands of Lotta preceded to shave every inch of my body utilizing a thick and fragrant lathering soap. It was obviously not her first time, and knowing the bodies of her husband and the other island males were not glabrous, where did she acquire such skill?
Still, putting aside my fears, it was quite sensuous.
“Miss Ashley’s Aunt Meredith had me do all her male companions. She didn’t like hair either.”
An offered clue.
The razor dexterously slid about my penis and scrotum and I had to helplessly watch as Lotta used the slippery soapiness as a lubricant to stroke my rising shaft with one hand while continuing to glide the evilly sharp blade with the other. When finished, my manhood stood straight up and seemed to stand in humble salute as this quietly dominant island woman stepped back to admire her work.
She irritatingly giggled and I could do nothing but lie and broil.
There followed a most relaxing sponge bath with scented water. When deemed cleansed, she sat to my left side and two strong brown fingers of her left hand slowly worked their way into my rectum. She smiled and pressed, slowly penetrating, expertly judging her progress by the reaction of my erect penis. When my shaft waggled in earnest, indicating that she found the sought after gland, her inserted fingers somewhat stilled and her right hand began massaging my balls.
There was nothing more. She never touched my erect penis. There I lay helpless while this knowing island woman had her way, occasionally diddling her left fingers, continuously massaging with her right. She giggled as I writhed in ecstasy, my erect but neglected penis amusingly waggling about as she toyed with my most sensitive erogenous zones.
“Miss Meredith, she have many like you,” Lotta offered in explanation, suggesting another clue as to the derivation of her prowess.
Before I could question, not that I would obtain satisfactory answers, Lotta pronounced me ready.
“See you tomorrow night,” she smilingly forewarned, stepping from the room, leaving me embarrassingly erect with wrist and ankles well secured.
And yes, thereafter Lotta’s tendance became my foreplay for the ensuing days of my honeymoon.
Chapter Eleven - Corky
A full bladder draws my mind back to the present. Despite the months and months of discipline, the painstaking tutelage in teaching me how to properly pose and to do so until commanded to cease, nature’s call cannot be ignored. So in violation of the rules, I begin to wriggle my hips in the midst of dessert. I am careful not to disturb the stem glass, the punishment for its fall being long hours secured to a shortened and well secured leash. The motion serves to make my testicle bells gently chime, and the nearby prandial discussion is interrupted when attention is subtly drawn to my overwhelming need for bladder relief.
“Oh my, Corky must need to be taken for a walk,” Miss Ashley exclaims with feigned surprise.
Yes feigned. It was she who ordered me to be well watered, staging a game amongst her guests as to whom would most enjoy controlling my leash.
“Miranda must be having her dinner. Anyone care to assist?”
I carefully turn my head in apprehension, trying to peer at the seven epicures. I anticipate Miss Ashley’s thinking... Dr. Helga I already know and fear.... no amusement there... Dr. Stella I know and is a person with whom I am sanguine since I can no longer respond to her penetrating questions.... I have experienced enough of Miss Mary, though I know I am facing a week of her skills.... Mr. Reggie would not care to volunteer.... this Harold character, locked away in some metal tube, has a problem of focus in preferring to handle his own organs rather than mine... and then there is Miss Pam in the alluring dominatrix apparel.
Ah, yes. I can read Miss Ashley’s mind.
“Oh Pam! Would you be a dear!”
The request is wordlessly answered as this Miss Pam beams with the thought.
“Anywhere in the bushes...or I’ll have one of the kitchen help get his basin,” Miss Ashley advises.
A smiling Pam arises to approach.
“The obedience stick is on the armoire and you saw how the short scrotum chain has to be released.”
Pam nods. The stem glass is removed. My leash is unhooked from the wall. The leather clad woman patiently assists me from the table top and I feel the enthusiastic tugs of a dilettante guiding my leash.
“Come Corky, be a good doggie,” the woman encourages.
My bells ring in earnest as I eagerly follow the leash. I need to go, the precocious Miranda having forced much water into me. I will indeed be good and hope this woman will not find herself fumbling with the short chain that needs to be released to reveal my new pee hole.
Out the front door, down the steps, there is sufficient moonlight and glow from the plantation house to facilitate the location of a suitable spot. Miss Pam points. I position myself and part my elbows to lower my chin to the soil, spread my knees, arch my back and wait while Miss Leather releases the chain from my scrotum band to my anal insertion. As expected she has difficulty.
I await her success and I think back to the honeymoon and Lotta.
After that occasion when I was left strapped to the bed, nicely cleansed and massaged, and quite randy, I was, as one would expect, quite eager for Miss Ashley. Except she never came... or so it seemed. And strangely I remained erect, thinking about her exquisite form and her naughty yet clever foreplay, having Lotta tie me to the bed.
One must keep in mind that though I romped about naked, Miss Ashley remained quite properly attired, to the point of me referring to her bathing suit as Victorian. So at the end of the day, when newlyweds unite to do what is expected, it would be the only time during the entire day that I could admire and adore what was really well formed feminine flesh. Miss Ashley was one of those women who blended with the crowd when dressed, but in dishabille was stunning.
So I waited in the fully lit room, unable to move a muscle with the surprising tautness of Lotta’s bondage.
Finally Miss Ashley entered, hushed me by suggesting she was too tired to talk and casually removed her clothes. And of course she was as beautiful as I had imagined in the hours of waiting.
I expected her to mount and ride me as she preferred, the four point restraint adding a degree of ‘spice’. But instead she climbed onto the bed near my head and I was shocked as she straddled my face.
“You need to learn new things Charles, it’s been a week of marriage and I’m bored already.”
And with that she lowered herself over my mouth before I could reply. She was facing my feet and my lips found themselves aligned not with the finely trimmed opening to her love pouch but instead with her rear portal. She used her weight and clenched her buttocks to form a fairly complete seal over my face.
Thoroughly secured to the bed...gasping for air...I learned to perform analingus that night. I had no choice. And that was all, no climactic relief for Charles. She deemed that I had had enough.
Thereafter, for the remainder of the honeymoon, Miss Ashley was never ‘bored’. Our evening meals ended in the parlor of the plantation house where a glass of expensive port awaited my bride and four fur lined wrist and ankles cuffs awaited me.
I learned to place them about my limbs myself, the Velcro strips making self bondage quick yet comfortably firm.
And we talked while Miss Ashley sipped her port. When the mood finally struck, or perhaps when the conversation became tedious, Miss Ashley would simply suggest, “I think it’s time you went to see Lotta.”
That ‘suggestion’ was her command to climb the stairs. Awaiting in the bedroom was the fully clothed handsome island women with the straps needed to secure the cuffs to the bed. A full body shave, a cleansing, a testicle massage with anal stimulation, magnificent tumescence, and then the joyful Lotta would depart leaving my penis untouched and me to wonder.
When would Miss Ashley join me and how will she please herself tonight?
&n
bsp; My thoughts curtail as Miss Pam finally finds the small clasp and the short chain falls away. She declines to use the obedience stick and instead stoops, cups my balls and draws them forward, making way for my excretions.
“Psst, Psst,” the generation of sibilant sounds intended to begin my flow.
I need no such encouragement. I perform, grateful that the darkness cloaks my humiliation in being handled by this unfamiliar woman.
Chapter Twelve - Corky
Led back into the house, Miss Ashley has her guests in the parlor for after dinner drinks. All offer congratulatory comments to Miss Pam, the level of adulation akin to praising a woman who has successfully tamed some wild beast.
Discourse centers around me with Miss Pam continuing to hold my leash as my wife Ashley toys with Mr. Reggie, slowly bringing him to full stand for the amusement of the women and the envy of the well chastised Harold.
The well hung gigolo seems comfortable in displaying himself, humbly standing with hands atop his head and an oddly proud smile as Miss Ashley gently strokes his long shaft. He is indeed huge.
“So, Ashley, how does one transform a husband into such a noble and obedient plaything?” Miss Pam blurts in steering the conversation.
“Well, Doctors Helga and Stella were very instrumental but I suppose you and Mary would find the story of interest...”
Having lived the tale, I divert my thoughts to more pleasant times...
The honeymoon ended and wife Ashley insisted I greet the chartered jet sans clothing.
“It will make the honeymoon more memorable... naked beginning to end,” she festively suggested. “You can dress on the plane before we land in Teterboro.”
So I did, thinking at the time that there must be something about the island’s air or water that transforms the normally prim Ashley into quite the libertine.
By agreement I returned to my job but with renewed vigor. There’s something about having vast resources which provides a new prospective on things. Plus I was refreshed. Ashley fell into the role of a good wife. The bedroom kinkiness diminished compared to the island escapades but of course Ashley remained on top, controlling the timing of coitus by way of my nipples. Still she was there, night after night, and in returning home to her I told myself the mental wear of the legal profession was tolerable.
The Chris Bellows' Collection Page 20