The Chris Bellows' Collection

by Chris Bellows

  When finished, I lap away all elements of our lustful encounter, as trained, and feel the brisk tug as our journey to join the visiting entourage continues.

  Stepping onto the soft sand my elbows and knees sink and I struggle to keep pace. The increased jostling causes my cortex to be overwhelmed with all the new sensations as my nipples are pulled about, the chain connected to my loop frictions the deeply inserted tube and as always I feel my tail insert waggle about to knead my prostate. The result is a ‘stiffy’, as Miranda childishly refers to male tumescence. So as we approach Miss Ashley and her relaxing guests, many pair of female eyes look to see Corky the human canine being walked and exhibiting a most erect yet well restrained manhood.

  The leash is handed to an amused Miss Ashley.

  “I see your modifications are working to achieve the desired results, Helga,” Miss Ashley comments as she pulls up on the leash, forcing me to rise onto my haunches.

  Righted at the waist and with elbows in the air, my engorged and intubated penis is displayed for all. The collection of women laugh with the sight. And it is more annoying to hear the male voice of the naked and well hung Mr. Reggie joining them.

  Miss Ashley notices my chagrined look and tenderly pinches to my cheek mollify.

  “Why not romp about a little, Corky,” Miss Ashley suggests as she unclips my leash.

  As stated, being with Miss Ashley on the beach affords the only freedom I have from the leash. Does my tail waggle in anticipation?

  “Go get it, Corky boy.”

  With leash removed, Miss Ashley tosses my foam rubber ball, so often retrieved by me under the tutelage of Nurse Peggy. I know it to be a psychological reminder of my incarceration, treatment and therapy at the Amsterdam Institute for Behavioral Modification, the clever Dr. Stella suggesting there be constant remembrance of my many cathartic months of transformation to groveling pet.

  Still, with the obedience stick handy, I know to comply and bound after the rolling sphere. In feeling the autoeroticism transmitted through the chains to nipples, penis, testicles and prostate there come goose bumps.

  “So nicely trained,” observes Miss Pam as I grip the ball in my teeth and turn back to the group.

  With the ball bringing memories, I think back to the final visit with the judge. After I reviewed the prenuptial agreement and finally ascertained the scope of the document I had signed, I was given a week to think about my circumstances.

  I could fight the petition to have me declared non compos mentis and possibly win. But then there was the divorce which would leave me unemployable and with five hundred dollars per month of Miss Ashley’s money. I could then object to the prenuptial agreement, attempt to get it overturned and raid the Duval coffers. But there would be a phalanx of lawyers to contest my maneuver. I could not claim forgery. The punctilious Miss Priscilla Peck would attest to my signature without hesitation. It would be argued that I was seeking to negate the very document that I ostensibly drafted. Would that be more evidence of my alleged mental incompetency, denying the terms of an agreement that so many people could testify that I had personally written?

  And there was the file stuffed with photos of me engaging in the most prurient behavior... all that training in fellatio practiced on numerous patients at the Clinic. And not a single picture provided the slightest clue that Nurse Peggy and Nurse Valerie were standing nearby to supervise my drug induced actions.

  I would be disbarred if the photos circulated and in experiencing the power of the Duval millions, I had no doubt that with a simple phone call a close up photo of my pursed and sedulous lips wrapped about a stiff phallus could be on the cover of any number of daily newspapers.

  So in the end, I capitulated, scribbling a rejoinder of ‘no lo contendre’ to Miss Ashley’s petition. I became her legal ward.

  “He’ll be well cared for your honor,” Miss Ashley declared in thanking the judge for her time and her ruling. “He’s already responding well to ‘counseling’.”

  I recall the judge smiling wickedly upon hearing Miss Ashley give that word an odd inflection, as if it was a code word.

  The afternoon proceeds with me retrieving the ball for all that choose to toss it. When Mr. Reggie gives it a throw, he makes me lick his balls when I return it.

  “Good exercise,” Miss Ashley explains as Miss Pam comments on by labored breathing.

  “Time for an early dinner,” Miss Ashley finally announces. “There are no landing lights on the runway, therefore we must depart before dusk.”

  Chapter Thirty Six - Corky

  During dinner I am posed on the exhibition table as usual. Miranda shortens my four chains and thus the slightest motion of my head can be felt in every sentient pink part of my anatomy. There is no problem holding an erection to amuse the guests.

  “Mary suggests that Corky is prepared to entertain after dinner,” Miss Ashley announces. “He’s been taught a new trick.”

  I cringe hearing the words, knowing how I will ‘entertain’.

  Miranda clears the table. Port is served. Miss Mary approaches to release my leash.

  “Let’s use the parlor,” Miss Ashley nods to the large rarely occupied room across the hall.

  Miss Mary leads, obedience stick in hand. I follow into the parlor, knees and elbows pumping, testicle bells chiming. Miranda joins us. I am stripped of my bindings. Strangely, I feel naked without, though such only cover arms and legs. The chains are removed, leaving the thin steel bars penetrating my nipples. My ‘loop’, the hardened latex tube inserted into my penis remains. My tail and rectal insert are slid away. Neck collar and scrotal band are my only covering.

  Miss Ashley leads her guests into the room... Dr. Stella, Dr. Helga, Miss Pam, Mr. Reggie, the chastised Harold. The pilot joins them, dressed in her flight uniform. The copilot is at the air strip readying the jet.

  “Mary’s been busy every morning as I am sure most of you have noticed. She’s taught Corky a new trick, a process every dog lover enjoys,” Miss Ashley explains.

  On cue, Miss Mary snaps her fingers and I know to lie supine on the rug and extend my arms well out to the sides. I lift my feet off the floor and raise my hips... further... further... until my toes touch the rug over my head. I spread my feet. I know to relax and let my ligaments stretch. My looped penis approaches my mouth. I extend my tongue and lick the engorged tip. It feels good and the women collectively stoop for a better view. There is laughter... sardonic, derisive. Yet I lick and lick.

  “Oh Mary, just as you promised,” Miss Ashley gushes.

  “Men can be trained to do just about anything,” the dour Mary observes. “It takes time, perseverance, resolve, and a good rationing of pain.”

  The group just looks in silence as my enthusiastic autoerotic tongue works. I feel a fleeting pleasure... like a need to sneeze. I know there is no ejaculatory relief, no possibility of climax yet I lick on, amusing the women as Miss Ashley intends. I flush with the humiliation yet feel strangely proud to be responding to Miss Mary.

  “Do your balls, Corky. Be a good boy for Miss Ashley,” Miss Mary commands.

  I further lower my hips, amazed by my newly instilled flexibility. I use my nose to push aside the rubber loop. There are gasps of astonishment and girlish glee as I begin to lick my scrotum, careful to work my tongue around Dr. Helga’s cruel testicle piercings.

  For a few moments, Miss Ashley watches with a smile and then takes one of the thin chains from Miranda. She stoops and hooks one end to my neck collar just under my chin. She then unravels just enough length, mere inches, to attach it to my scrotum band. She effectively restrains me in the curled up position... neck collar to scrotal band.

  “Henceforth, this will be your reward for good behavior, Corky. And perhaps when I am in a good mood I’ll call down here to the island and have Miranda secure you just like that. Let you lick away... penis and balls. You know you can’t climax. You’ll just extend the torment, bring yourself closer and closer to what I’ve taken away, the
ability to ejaculate.”

  More port is served as I hungrily do as Miss Ashley suggests, torment myself in trying to achieve the unachievable.

  “He’ll soon learn that manipulating the loop can also provide ephemeral pleasure,” Dr. Helga lectures. “It penetrates extremely sensitive flesh and as you observed there’s a bulb that kneads the prostate gland. Corky’s going to be one happy puppy.”

  My frustration builds. I know I am close to climax, telling myself more licking will bring the ultimate in male joy. When Dr. Helga mentions the loop, I move my head and grip the firm latex tube in my mouth.

  “See, he’s doing it already. Go to it, Corky. Try to get yourself off,” the demented doctor cackles.

  With the firm tube clenched in my teeth I pull and push, pull and push. The rubber abrades the most sensitive urethral flesh, bringing a burning that seems to strangely satiate. I can feel the bulb tantalize my prostate. The action amuses my audience. I appear to be exhibiting canine behavior, a dog pulling at his own leash.

  Dr. Helga approaches to run her index finger about my perineum. She holds it up for all to view. It glistens in the room light.

  “Prostatic fluid,” she explains. “He can milk himself.”

  Small talk ensues. I notice that Miss Ashley’s hand reaches to the naked Mr. Reggie and grasps his semi erect manhood. She strokes, and I think of the exquisite hand jobs I once received, still wondering where and how her skill developed.

  The awkward position slowly tires me. Despite my earnest efforts there can be no climax, only more and more frustration. My head finally eases back to rest on the carpet. I can no longer strain my neck muscles to reach my genitals.

  “He’ll develop stamina over time,” Miss Mary notes. “I’ve taught Miranda how to make a man strive to attain a woman’s goals. Given a few weeks Corky will be able to assume the position ad infinitum.”

  There is silence broken by the pilot.

  “Well, darkness approaches,” she announces.

  Miranda works me back into the bindings. The group retreats to gather belongings. Within minutes I am walked to the air strip and watch while the plane is loaded, providing the guests with a suitable final setting, a perspective of how they will remember their visit to the Duval island paradise, the naked and collared Corky patiently resting on all fours, penis erect, the nubile Miranda directing his leash.

  Miss Ashley stands holding hands with Mr. Reggie. The two appear to be teens in love. He remains naked, Miss Ashley as always relishing the notion that the subordinate male leaves the island attired, or rather not attired, as she demands.

  She pulls Mr. Reggie to stand before me and points to his semi flaccid manhood. I know to crane my neck and extend my tongue, tenderly licking his balls, expecting to offer more upon Miss Ashley’s command.

  “Make him nice and hard for me, Corky. It’s the best way to leave the island.”

  I raise my head and take the tip of his penis in my mouth. I hear a murmur of ecstasy and a soft feminine laugh as I feel the enormous tip swell between my lips.

  “I’ll be back in a month or two,” Miss Ashley quietly informs, patting my head. “And maybe I’ll bring another male toy, one even bigger than Reggie. You seem to so much savor the better endowed men. And I’ll let you watch me enjoy him, of course.”

  Epilogue - Corky

  I know the island well, but Miss Ashley knows it better. Thus for me to elude there is futility. Yet, I scramble about and hide as best I can. I am here to please Miss Ashley and therefore endeavor to provide a challenge.

  It has been a year since that visit when Dr. Helga looped my useless penis. Since then Miss Ashley has visited many times bringing numerous male ‘toys’ as promised. She has also replenished the old stables, and in having no desire to engage in hunts similar to those apparently staged by her late aunt, she has formulated her own form of recreation... stalking me.

  I remain in my bindings, forced to move about on elbows and knees as would a dog. Thus with my lack of celerity, after release I am afforded an hour to rush into the island greenery as best I can and hide myself from the thundering stallion which the regal Miss Ashley rides with aplomb.

  On this hunt, she has a new toy... Harold. He’s naked and gingerly riding about with Miss Ashley, locked into masturbation mittens and most horny; Miss Ashley having spent the past three days teasing him while keeping him denied of any ultimate climax.

  I’ve sucked on his mammoth penis of course and it does indeed seem that the size of every visiting toy exceeds that of the previous gigolo. The regimen of ‘sperm appetizers’ continues.

  So here I rest, well ensconced in a thicket of underbrush, hopefully able to avoid Miss Ashley for the six allotted hours. In resting, I enjoy the relative freedom of not being leashed. Neck collar remains in place however, with chains attached to nipples, my tail insertion and my loop. Thus I can move about my head and feel the effect of the pleasant jostling on all my sentient anatomy.

  I feel myself stiffen and know that if I continue I will soon feel prostatic fluid seeping between my thighs. It is as close to ejaculation as I can come. So I wile away the hours both stimulating myself and frustrating myself.

  I hear noise. I peer through the shrubbery to see the huge form of Harold sitting atop a stallion, holding the reins between his thumbless mittens as best he can. He is alone, somehow separating from Miss Ashley. He looks about, obviously lost. The horse steps forward. I move to follow his motion. My testicle bells quietly ring with my movement.

  Then it happens, the sound of a zing and a whoosh. I feel stabbing pain. My muscles turn to rubber. I cannot move.

  A well hidden Miss Ashley has found her prey, utilizing Harold as a diversion and listening for my bells.

  “Gotcha, Corky boy,” I hear the confident sonorous voice of my Master, my legal guardian.

  The soft firm hands, which can so wonderfully stroke the male appendage, dislodge the curare filled dart from my right cheek. The giant Harold joins in celebrating my capture. A large arm slips under my stomach.

  “Bring him out this way, Harold. There’s a small clearing.”

  Though immobile I can strangely hear and feel everything. I know what will happen and cannot move to resist or protest. The consequence of capture is a fate accompli. There is nothing I can do. Thus I am motionless as Harold picks me up like a small child.

  “Prop him tummy down over that fallen tree.”

  Harold places me stomach down as directed. Miss Ashley unlaces my leg bindings. I feel the smooth warmth of her hand brush my buttocks. It feels good. I welcome her touch.

  My control chain is unhooked. My tail and anal insertion removed. I feel Miss Ashley’s controlling hands lift one foot and then the other to spread my legs and part my thighs.

  “Come here, Harold. Kneel and let Corky see what he’ll be taking.”

  Miss Ashley also kneels and reaches with her left hand to grasp a clump of my hair. She uses it as a handle to lift my head where I am forced to stare at Harold’s hairless pubes, just inches from my face. The enormous phallus is somewhat swollen in apparent anticipation. Miss Ashley’s right hand moves to the shaft. Her fingers cannot fully wrap about the considerable girth. Still she deftly strokes, the randy Harold most grateful for her tendance.

  “We’ll see if your muscles are relaxed enough to take this one, Corky. Harold’s a big boy. I like them big, and I think you do too.”

  Within seconds the tip of Harold’s stiff penis seems to tower above my head. Miss Ashley smirks so divinely the control element has that effect, two naked males under her governance. Both forced to endure the degradation of performing for her... displaying, exhibiting, submitting, capitulating.

  A pearl of liquid appears to drip from Harold’s excited organ. Miss Ashley deems him ready and stands. She doffs her jodhpurs in a quick and practiced maneuver then sits, sliding her beautiful form so that her nicely trimmed mons approaches. She knows that I pine to suckle her pinkness. Yet, I am paralyzed and ins
tead must look admiringly and savor the aroma, a tantalizing combination of arousal and sweat from a morning’s ride.

  I feel Harold step between my spread thighs. The masturbation mittens press against my hips to steady himself. I feel the abrasion of the scabrous fabric.

  “Plunge away, Harold. Make it deep. Make it slow. He’s been well lubricated to take the tail insert, and with the curare you’ll find that the purse string muscle is unable to offer resistance.”

  Oh the humiliation, the degradation. Yes, the consequence afforded the vanquished prey is to be sodomized, and by one of the largest males I have tasted.

  Meanwhile I stare at Miss Ashley’s warm, soft and wet quim, using the wonderful sight to divert my attention from the extraordinary pain of my anal assault.

  Miss Ashley’s fingers slip into her portal, moist and fragrant with arousal, the display of her power over the subjugated male beast providing welcomed stimulation.

  “A little treat,” she offers, withdrawing her fingers and smearing the odoriferous wetness over my lips and nose. I try to lick and cannot. The curare obviates all movement. The mental frustration begins to overwhelm. I just must lie and feel the inordinate strength of Harold’s thrust, his lust finally released but only with Miss Ashley’s concurrence. And it so nicely augments her sense of power.

  Watching Corky being sodomized is luscious, particularly by the well endowed Harold. My pet can neither speak to protest nor move to resist. He just must lie and take it.... take all twelve rock hard inches.

  And I delightfully add to his sense of helplessness, offering the aromatic feminine essence for which he so craves. As I watch Harold briskly plunge... in ... out... in ... out... his puissant thrusts making Corky’s bells chime like Big Ben, I dab my fingers into my overflowing love pot and slowly coat Corky’s entire face with my wetness. Oh, the power.

  “You know, Corky, Aunt Meredith told me on more than one occasion that all men lie, cheat and steal. And most curiously, they all thereafter seek to be contrite, all offer some humbling form of penitence, all seek to engage in penance.