About Eve,

by Chris Bellows

  And so one evening I arrived home and instead of being greeted at the door with a glass of wine and a polite but labored curtsy from my pretty maid, instead there was a note from Lucretia on the door summoning me to her apartment.

  I stepped down the stairs into the foyer and knocked expecting Bobbi to answer as trained. Instead Lucretia opened the door with a smile and a look of pointed determination.

  “Not to be alarmed, Eve. Bobbi’s been delayed. Seems he’s picked up a nasty habit that needs attention.”

  She beckoned me to step inside and I followed her into the foreboding study. There was Bobbi, stripped of his maid’s uniform and standing in this amazingly clever ‘A’ frame.

  “I stepped out to the store and when I returned he was masturbating! A nasty habit. Luckily I returned in time to stop him before he soiled anything. My second husband was given to the same weakness but I cured him.”

  I had been in the study before but never realized that the two vertical posts resting against opposite walls were hinged at the bottom and could be pulled toward each other and connected at the tops to form an apex over the center of the rug. Once done, restraining ankles, wrists and neck was a simple matter of securing cuffs and collar to the leaning posts.

  In Bobbi’s case, Lucretia and placed him in a broad fur lined neck collar which was chained high above near the apex. His wrists were secured behind his back and ankle cuffs tied to the bottom of each post ensured that he stood perfectly still, on toes with legs widely spread. It appeared that the neck collar bore much of Bobbi’s weight judging from his motionless form.

  Bobbi’s maids cap comically remained atop is head but his long hair was disheveled, apparently from an initial struggle before fully comprehending the futility of resisting Lucretia’s bondage.

  I stepped further into the room to the left side. Bobbi’s penis was incredibly stiff and Lucretia had spent the afternoon ‘working’ him. Dozens of nasty little clamps adorned nipples, scrotum and Lucretia even had some strange device attached to his nostrils.

  Juxtaposing the excited state of his manhood were tears streaming down his cheeks. His make up was smeared and knowing this, he appeared embarrassed to be thus seen by his sister. Curiously, he seemed ambivalent about his naked and helpless state before two women.

  “I have found it’s best to deal with the problem harshly on the first occurrence. Saves time in the long run.”

  With her comment Lucretia stepped to Bobbi’s right side and gently flicked a few clamps. The pain must have been extraordinary, for Bobbi wrenched spasmodically and attempted to cry out. But when he opened his mouth, very little sound emitted. Lucretia and also clamped his tongue.

  “He seemed to indicate you approved of his masturbation, at least when supervised.”

  I nodded and Lucretia indicated we should talk. I agreed and we moved to the living room for an aperitif, leaving Bobbi to his endeavors.

  I put aside my thoughts about Bobbi and Lucretia as I enter the lobby. A dozen guests have assembled. Their attire evidences their departure, ordinary but quite fashionable clothing after an extended weekend of leather, latex or perhaps nothing. Some Dominant women never leave their room, choosing instead to remain naked while straddling the face of a blindfolded member of the serving staff. Yes, we have well trained tongues at the Spa and some of our guests have been known to ride wave after wave of oral pleasure. Receiving simultaneous clitoral and anal stimulation from a male/female duo has become one of the Spa’s most demanded services. I even use a sketched silhouette of such an indulgence to decorate the back of the dining room menu. And every room is equipped with the simple but effective ‘split’ sitting stool to facilitate the activity.

  As expected, Nickie has drawn attention. The ‘poor’ girl is perspiring profusely as her thighs strain to hold her little nub above the plank. Three guests have gathered around to observe. One is graciously fingering her inner labia which drapes down the sides of the plank. I’m sure Nickie is grateful for the momentary pleasure. She remains silent but her nipples react to the caress, strangely crinkling to pencil points in response to the ephemeral pleasure despite the prolonged pain.

  Madam Guitteau observes from afar. She is a regular visitor to the Spa, skiing in the winter and returning for horseback riding in the early autumn. Madam is a notorious professional Dominatrix from France, catering to Europe’s wealthy male population. She is strict, discreet, and expensive...very expensive. Specializing in long term bondage and sensory deprivation, a weekend at her chateau is rumored to cost thousands, and the monetary rewards reaped by the demand for her services are evidenced by the sizable jet waiting at Calgary to return her to her debaucherous pursuits.

  Years ago on her first visit, I greeted her in the lobby as she retrieved a small electronic pager from the pocket of her skin-tight black leather slacks. Listening intently to my welcome, she deftly pushed on the numbered keyboard, firmly pressed a large button and smiled...evilly.

  “An intimate message for a special guest at my chateau.”

  Yes, it seems with the advent of the world-wide satellite pager system, Madam Guitteau is able to deliver a barely tolerable programmed series of electric shocks to clients enduring her long term specialty... without need for proximity.

  “My assistant makes sure his feeding tube continues to flow. And he will be comforted knowing that his Mistress cares enough to lift a finger to assure he is properly tormented, despite my intention of enjoying a few days respite here.”

  One could not help envisioning some influential politician, ostensibly on a long holiday, but in reality hanging naked, thoroughly bound, deafened, and blindfolded in one of Madam’s well designed suspension harnesses. His shaven privates are wired, perhaps with a metallic urethral insert, perhaps with testicle clamps, and he helplessly awaits the capricious push of Madam’s finger on the pager button. One imagines that he is comfortable but wishes for the end of the hours and hours of tedium. And the mental torment builds with the realization that such a desire means wishing for the excruciating electric shocks, received in a place where no male can endure pain, except when thoroughly restrained and when mandated by a merciless superior.

  And so with the jolts, measured in seconds but seemingly felt for an eternity, the mind reverts to hoping for the resumption of boredom. For a return to silence, his own involuntary high pitched screams permeating the ear coverings and being the only sound perceived in the prolonged dark silence...perceived that is since the push of Madam’s finger hours before.

  During that initial visit, after I finished verbalizing my welcome, Madam politely smiled.

  “I need a boy with a good tongue...young and with firm, rounded buttocks. Playing with my pager arouses me and I want to be serviced. I assume the room is equipped with a whip?”

  I nodded, fully understanding her needs.

  And so after that first visit, I made sure to have available every time she vacationed with us a young looking male with an athletic backside and to have her room stocked with the thinnest of whips. Although she tipped generously, no male servant ever requested to serve her a second time. And an amusing rumor continues to circulate among the professional staff that Madam Guitteau is not only given to paroxysmally squeezing her thighs about the latex covered head of a well whipped staff member, but also gripping her pager with equal zeal. Communicating the carnal delights of her long weekend to a specially prepared set of male genitals hanging most anxiously in the bowels of a French chateau.

  I am comforted knowing that Nickie is proving to be an entertaining addition to our staff. And with Madam observing so intently, I wonder if her demands may change a little upon her next visit. I have been told that the desires of the truly avid flagellatrix can be genderless...

  Chapter Five

  When the train reaches the egress of the tunnel and the bright Canadian winter sun resumes illuminating the cab of the locomotive, by tradition the engineer signals the end of the unique journey with a long blast of his horn.
With the acoustics of the bowl shaped valley, the resulting low moan announces to everyone within miles of the lodge the arrival and departure of guests.

  Most of the departing guests recognize the sound as a signal to proceed toward the train and those concluding their first visit follow the more regular clients out the lobby door onto the ramp leading to the platform.

  A half dozen male servants labor to carry luggage to the approaching train. Although the temperature is well below freezing I insist they undertake their endeavors sans covering. It’s amusing to watch them scurry about while their genitals shrivel and turn colors. And the sight provides a wonderfully appropriate welcome for the arriving Dominant women of the world.

  Joining a daily scene in which I have so often partaken, I smile, hug, shake hands, and exchange pleasantries with these most gracious but authoritative women. The fact that they have spent the preceding days flogging the young and vulnerable flesh of the Spa’s serving staff is incongruous to their dress and demeanor.

  But for Madam Guitteau, almost every departing guest has begun to transform herself to her mundane role as executive, high-powered attorney, wealthy spouse, or influential elected official. And later, when they step off the train in Calgary, no one would suspect the proclivity, that oddest but most enjoyable of common denominators, which caused them to gather for a few days of bliss.

  A delicious Champagne brunch is served aboard and although the train is not scheduled to leave for another hour the departing guests embark in order to eat, drink, socialize and converse. In so doing, the details of their sordid stay are exchanged with some having experienced the delight of tormenting the same member of the serving staff. Thus, amusing discussions ensue typically comparing a subordinate’s reaction to the whip, crop, scrotal parachute, various nipple and testicle clamps and other implements of pain.

  With almost every discussion comes a comparison of anatomy and curiously, the appendage most talked about and compared is the tongue. The debate concerning which gender provides the more pleasurable level of cunnilingus never ends with almost every guest sampling both. And the group usually light heartedly concludes...more sampling will be required.

  My duty now changes to greeting the arriving guests. An informal reception line forms on the platform, and I smile and extend my hand. Many are regulars whom I can welcome by name. There are three newcomers, two of whom have notable business careers and I recognize from magazine and newspaper articles. As noted, I am careful to use the nom de guerre under which they have made reservations. This sets the climate and the other guests politely follow my example.

  Many times there is a fine line between being noteworthy and notorious. Addressing the former by an assumed name protects her from becoming the latter. Years hence, if someone such as a nosey investigative reporter with evidence of carnal dalliances inquires ‘have you met Ms. X’, the legitimate reply will be ‘no’. For despite licentious reminiscences at the Spa, perhaps with the woman in question wearing a sizable strap on and extracting the most pitiful of pleas from a soon to be sodomized young male, Ms. X’s real name was never used.

  As I mechanically smile, greet and shake, my thoughts return to that interesting evening with Lucretia and Bobbi.

  Leaving Bobbi to suffer in the study, Lucretia stepped to the kitchen and I heard a cork pop. I sat in the living room.

  “You know, Eve, every male will engage in such disgusting activity given the chance,” referring to Bobbi’s attempt at masturbation. “Despite his feminine proclivities he’ll seek pleasure as any normal male, no matter that it’s not permissible.”

  She was calling out from the kitchen. She paused. I heard the clink of glasses and she reentered the living room with a tray, two wine glasses, and bottle.

  I had not before focused on her attire. Lucretia wore a strapless black spandex halter. Her large breasts stretched the tight material and I could see the outline of well shaped nipples beneath. Her bare shoulders and arms revealed a strength that one would not suspect in a woman her age. A short pleated black skirt allowed for easy movement, leaving most of her shapely but muscled thighs uncovered. But it was her uncovered flat stomach, which hinted even more at her unlikely physique. For a woman who had attained her fourth decade, Lucretia had the body of a young athlete and she glided across the room carrying the tray without effort.

  Her choice of color was insightful, highlighting the silver streaks in her jet-black hair and complementing her dark eyes.

  Lucretia placed the tray on the coffee table in front of me. When she sat in the opposite chair the short skirt hiked up even higher and the pink lips of her trimmed pudendum flashed. She noticed my downward gaze, smiled confidently and smoothed the cloth over her thighs. The lower portion of her meaty outer labia remained peeking back but I politely smiled, pretending not to notice. My thoughts turned to Bobbi. If he was forced to glimpse at such feminine charm throughout a long day of servitude, it was no wonder his hand had involuntarily reached for his male organ when given the opportunity.

  “Yes, my second husband had a very active right hand. When I would graciously permit him to explore between my thighs with his tongue and lips, the randy man would begin to stroke himself. Can you imagine him, placing his gratification on the same level as mine? Well I finally solved the problem. Did a lot of research and finally had him belted.”

  She paused and noticed my look of perplexity.

  “Yes, a chastity belt. There are a number of different styles and models available. With the development of new materials, they are not the medieval devices one envisions. With the proper fitting they can be quite comfortable and very secure. High carbon stainless steel can be ineluctable. And rather attractive when polished.”

  Lucretia paused to sip her wine. I joined her.

  “My wimp husband wore one for his last three years. Of course you have to remove it every week or so to clean, but the ‘A’ frame in the study kept him from playing with his little worm in the interim.”

  Another pause. She was giving me time to reflect.

  “You should consider one for Bobbi. There’s a certain design that would make his maleness indiscernible under clothing. Of course there may be further refinements required. Hubby preferred male clothing so in his case such was not necessary.”

  I used the reference to inquire about her husband’s demise.

  “A tragic death. Heart attack. After three years, I finally decided to let him stroke himself. Listening to the entreaties gets wearing over time so I unlocked his belt and let him go at it. He just couldn’t take the excitement. He died with this huge erection and I imagine a sizable pool of semen somewhere in his system. The casket is probably filled with it.”

  Lucretia began to laugh.

  “I should have left him locked up. But the insurance covers a lot of remorse.”

  Her eyes twinkled with her last comment. Perhaps Lucretia did contribute to her husband’s death. However, as a criminal matter, what prosecutor would want such a story placed before a jury?

  Another pause, another sip.

  “You’ve been very kind having Bobbi perform for me. His services are appreciated...suppose as remuneration I take responsibility for ending his habit. I realize you have probably come to enjoy watching him humiliate himself, but he’ll be much more trainable without the normal hormonal release. I think you’d be surprised with his newly found willingness to please.”

  Lucretia casually opened her thighs and I once again found myself glancing downward. Her public hair had been closely trimmed leaving just above her exposed clitoral hood a small triangular patch, the top of which was covered by the skirt. The movement caused her outer labia to open and reveal her vermilion inner lips. She was quite moist, evidencing a notable level of arousal. Noticing my stare, she lifted the skirt, briefly revealing more of her sex, then smoothed it down to again cover herself. The flapping cloth caused her musky fragrance to waft and it mixed decadently with the bouquet of the wine. There was no doubt that the thoug
ht of having Bobbi under her 24-hour control excited her. And to me, the notion was most intriguing. After all, I was just 22 and very much wished to learn from this stern, authoritative woman.

  “Time for some weights,” Lucretia casually commented.

  She arose and walked to the study. I heard a drawer open and close then a muffled cry of pain from Bobbi. Lucretia returned.

  “Just a little extra tension on the scrotal clamps. With recollections of this evening, Bobbi’s eagerness to touch himself will diminish.”

  Lucretia smiled with an odd bashfulness, seeming to have pride in her ability to discipline and control the male but modestly not wishing to display it.

  Our conversation changed to a variety of subjects with Lucretia returning to the study every few minutes ensuring Bobbi’s continued torment. I became both hungry and giddy from the wine. When Lucretia poured the last drops, I announced my intent to depart.

  “Just send Bobbi upstairs when you’re through with him,” I suggested. “And won’t you please allow me to contribute toward the cost of his belt?”

  In so affirming her plans, Lucretia beamed with my comment.

  “Just consider it as compensation, Eve. He’ll earn it.”

  She snickered ominously with her last comment and I arose to leave. Later, as I changed to put on the silk sarong against which Bobbi so often enjoyed brushing his privates, I realized that my fragrance had also been mixing with the bouquet of the wine.

  I was in bed and half asleep when Bobbi finally returned. Lucretia made him carry his pretty maid’s uniform, deeming the need for covering for the short trip into the foyer and up the stairs to be unnecessary. He softly knocked on my bedroom door and entered. Remaining completely naked but for maid’s cap and heels, he humbly gave me a foot massage then kissed and licked my toes. I fell asleep and awoke to a sumptuous breakfast of eggs benedict. Bobbi remained erect while serving me and indicated that Lucretia requested he knock on her door in the same condition. So I let him kneel to my side and thrust is little purple stiffness into my sarong covered thigh as I ate, cautioning him not to ejaculate.