chrisbellows
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More contrition... a preview... from www.lulu.com/content/4286971
Male Subjugation, a Chris Bellows Teaser
Copyright 2008
by Chris Bellows
Howard J. Oldham prances more than walks. An unwitting observer would suspect his gait to be the innocent, frolicking perambulation of a teen subconsciously reverting to days of adolescence. Observing neighbors would agree that ‘Howie’ is rather odd. ‘Peculiar’ is the term most used in referencing the lad. ‘Eccentric’ is the choice of lexicon amongst the more ambivalent who have met Howie.
Yes, the end of a long tedious day shining shoes brings rejoice. And so in returning to home, feet celebrate in freedom. A mind dulled to oblivion cares not about observers and thus in approaching the driveway, Howie skips like a school girl. Just inches taller than five feet, nominal weight for a male, blond hair parted in the middle and combed straight down over his ears, his motion brings thoughts of feminine innocence... a young girl returning from school.
No one seems to notice that a young man who is in fact in his early twenties displays effeminate motion. In a way it complements his appearance... for his attire joins the styled hair in befuddling any initial attempt to determine gender. A gaily colored satin shirt could be termed a blouse. Tight slacks hint at what could be the underdeveloped buttocks of a prepubescent girl, the shoes appear to be slippers, worn about the kitchen on a cold Sunday morning while ‘Mom’ prepares pancakes.
At first glance, nothing about Howie divulges age or gender.
Turning into the driveway of 169 Larchmont Street, the prancing turns to an energetic trot as the side door awaits and there comes more evidence of eccentricity. It is the only entrance Howie ever uses.
Gossiping neighbors frequently speculated during the first few months of the Oldham’s term of residence. For sister Kate most often uses the back door after exiting her car. Housekeeper, Miss Mildred, always uses the front door, but neither ever use the side door. That seems to be Howie’s only permitted ingress. Never the front, never the back, only the side... and it is his exclusively.
Reaching the door, well manicured fingers type a four digit code into a key pad. Howie hears a click and pulls open the windowless door. Stepping into a foyer the size of a large closet, there comes momentary darkness when the door shuts behind him. Then automated lighting illuminates, the extremely bright collection of floodlights beaming only when the outer door is closed, locked and a person is detected occupying the small room.
Howie places his day’s meager earnings into a poach... dollars and some coins. A full day’s labor does not earn so much as an hourly minimum wage.
He next begins to strip. The presence of video cameras no longer brings concern. One to his front, one to his rear, one above reveals his every motion to observers, whomever and wherever such are.
Hangers await his slacks and blouse. Shelves offer storage for his curious footwear. A laundry chute receives underwear and socks. As a door mounted mirror reflects the progressing nakedness of a nymph, Howie’s mood, reveling in the brief moments of his walk home, turns to sullenness. With his nipples comically puffed, Howie stares at the figure of girl, but for the lack of plump breasts. There is no muscle mass, nothing even approaching the brawn of maleness. His smooth blemishless skin is pudgy in many places. A cruel and constant diet has assured feminine roundness. The complete hairlessness is strangely attractive... chemical depilation has obliterated the follicles of masculinity.
But most distressing, where gender is ultimately determined, there gleams a collection of polished stainless steel. Howie’s genitals are under lock and key. A large tight fitting ring encircles his penis and scrotum. To that there is connected a mesh tubular cage which locks over his penis. Inside are a cruel collection of spikes which make the slightest degree of tumescence painfully impossible.
Howie knows not to dawdle. There will come adequate time to ponder his altered physique... an existence modified to please others.
The shelves offer waiting strips of nylon. Padded on one side, patches of velcro on the other, Howie knows to encircle his ankles, his thighs just above the knees, his arms just above the elbows and finally the wrists. He always marvels at the intriguing dichotomy... the ease by which such can be adorned versus the resulting total frustration offered when used for binding. Every band has sewn into its length a formidable ring of steel. Thus each and every limb can be facilely encumbered... clipped together, clipped to tethers, clipped to eye hooks in furniture, walls, devices of torment, bathroom fixtures. The entire house is well appointed. And when hands are bound to uselessness, the simple velcro cannot be made to yield. Others can free him with the tug of two fingers. His are rendered useless.
As Aunt Prudence always lectured, the simplest bondage is mentally the most effective. The governing woman should never need to labor to bring helplessness.
Finished with his task, adhering the many bands requiring mere moments, Howie knows to face the camera and meekly place his hands atop his head. Sometimes he will remain in such a humble position for several minutes, sometimes the response is instantaneous. It is not within his purview to know or understand when Miss Mildred will offer entry. He will just stand naked and wait.
At 169 Larchmont Street, Howie is kept deprived of clothing... at all times. And well controlled.
Within minutes there comes the unlatching of the inner mirrored door. To Howie’s left he notes in his peripheral vison that his reflection turns then disappears. Stepping in its place is the imposing form of Miss Mildred. Taller by a head, broad in the shoulders, matronly, she looks down at the naked partially bound form. Despite the many months of her tutelage, she snorts, repressing an outright laugh of derision.
"You do seem to take particular delight in your bondage, Howie. So eager for the key?"
Howie nods with the enthusiasm of child offered ice cream.
"Turn."
Howie knows to face away as Miss Mildred clips together his elbow bands behind his back. Next the thighs bands are tethered with a short cord as are the ankle bands, the lengths of woven nylon pre measured to permit only the most limited of humbling steps. Then the feet gingerly shuffle to turn and face the governess of 169 Larchmont Street. Howie knows to offer his hands. Another length of nylon connects his wrists, stretching across his front at the belly. Miss Mildred is quick but gruff, drawing firmly, knowing that the shortness of the cord will greatly stress the entrapped elbows.
"Nice and tight for the likes of you Howie. You’d not want it any other way, would you? Your Aunt Prudence insisted... and you so meekly learned to enjoy."
Tight indeed. Fortunately Howie’s girlish form, lithe and supple, can initially accept the cruel bondage, elbows connected behind, wrists connected to the front. Yet over time, cramping will begin, and as Aunt Prudence so whimsically encouraged, with it the pleas for leniency.
"You may come in now."
Suitably bound, completely stripped, Howie follows Miss Mildred.
"How about the table this afternoon? Your sister will be greatly amused."
Howie knows not to answer. He has no input. Miss Mildred will position him and place him as she sees fit. Still she leads to the kitchen and powerful hands assist as Howie is directed to step up on a chair and then kneel on the kitchen table. Knowing hands guide him to lean back. Further, further, Howie finds himself supine with his legs folded beneath, propped on calves and elbows.
"Excellent."
Miss Mildred connects the bound elbows to the ankle tether. Howie will remain in the awkward position until his governess offers relief. She then produces the small but most meaningful key.
"Put on a good stand for me now, Howie. You know I like to be entertained."
Deft fingers unlock the huge ring encircling the male package. The penis cage is carefully slipped away. Despite the daily ritual, Miss Mildred laughs. She mocks.
"The serpent is freed," she announces as Howie’s tiny manhood comes into view.
Despite the years of chemical alteration, Howie’s organ still celebrates. The freed phallus begins to firm, the reaction to years of chastity uncontrollable.
Besides, Howie has come to enjoy displaying himself to the governing female. It is ingrained. Thus he hardens, bringing deriding snorts from the closely observing Miss Mildred.
The well crafted mass of stainless steel is slipped into the dishwasher then the woman returns to the helpless and vulnerable male form resting atop the kitchen table... so exposed.
"Shining shoes during the day, pleasing in subjugation by night. Just what a bright college educated boy should be doing..."
Soft yet gruff hands begin to palpate... everywhere. Miss Mildred is in charge. All comes at her behest... food, drink, care. Thus Howie meekly lies in shame, joyed that his constantly locked manhood is free, but chagrined to have to offer himself. Despite the years of mental training and physical alteration, it is something with which one can never fully acclimate.
The hands smooth about the entire expanse of flesh, feeling for the stubble of hair long ago expunged. There come pinches to assess the layers of subcutaneous fat, deliberately packed on with an insalubrious diet. Miss Mildred smiles in noting the lack of muscle tone. A deluge of anti androgens, forced into a young Howie by his overbearing aunt, ended all hopes of normal development, the imbalancing of the hormones instituted at a critical age when normally testosterone triggers the development of brawn.
"You take so nicely to your estrogen pills, Howie," Miss Mildred marvels.
Yes, she knows that once the testosterone level is depleted, the induction of female hormones can offer delightfully dramatic changes in the male. Howie is as meek as a kitten. The complete denial of normal exercise serves to weaken.
So cruel to have one’s life altered... but so amusing.
Controlling hands serve to highlight Howie’s pusillanimousness. Then she cups the tiny scrotal sac, gently squeezing to feel within the contents. Howie’s testicles are larger than peas, possibly the size of peanuts, but comparatively tiny for an adult male. It is amazing he can achieve an erection.
"Nice and hard for Miss Mildred now Howie."
She laughs in noting the diminutive erection. It has the length and girth of her pinky finger... it is the organ of a child.
A finger grazes the overly sensitive underside of the circumcised frenum. Howie moans with the ephemeral pleasure.
"Such a good boy..."
The touch feels good. In knowing that is all he will ever experience, Howie revels. His has been a lifetime of frustration in offering complete obeisance to the governing female. Thus he knows to enjoy as Miss Mildred’s words bring back memories...
******************************************************************************
"Such a good boy... your brother, Howie."
The voice... Aunt Prudence. The place... her old mansion. The listener... sister Kate.
Yet sister Kate is not Howie’s biological sister. Adopted by millionaire parents, Kate is a year older. Howie was adopted subsequently, months later as a ‘plaything’ for Kate. That’s the explanation Aunt Prudence was given to flippantly to offer. But such was not likely the case. It was not until the adoptive parents tragically died in the crash of their Learjet that Aunt Prudence began her governance and commenced the bizarre upbringing.
The never married sister of Kate and Howie’s mother, Aunt Prudence, jilted many years before as a beautiful young woman, had notable disdain for the male creature. When taking charge of the care of Howie and Kate, her predilection shown like the beacon of a lighthouse.
"Just stand and keep your hands on your head. Keep your penis nice and hard for us."
Commanding words, obedience always humbly exhibited.
Howie stands naked in the bathtub. Hands atop his head, the early training prevailing to this day. Aunt Prudence is bathing him before sister Kate... step sister Kate... and seems to bask in cleansing his penis, such to the point that an erection soon blossoms. A chagrined Howie protests, the inequity apparent even to a lad of that age.
"How come she gets to watch me... whenever I have no clothes... and I can’t watch her!"
"Calm yourself. Kate will be bathed after I put you to bed."
And so as always Kate is present in her bathrobe as Howie is brought to shame himself, that tiny pecker brought to its full, unimpressive stand.
"What do you think of that, Kate? Howie enjoys showing off for us," Aunt Prudence’s tone of voice instructive but derisive.
She stands and steps to the tub. A towel is draped over Howie’s head blinding him.
"Stay just like that, young man."
With punishments galore under Aunt Prudence’s province, Howie remains motionless, the towel bringing darkness to the otherwise well lit bathroom.
"Take off your robe pretty girl. Sit here on your Aunt’s lap. You’re getting to the age when you need to understand things about the male gender."
Aunt Prudence sits on a straight back chair, presenting her posture so formally in an otherwise demented scene.
"No. Sit with your back to me. Face Howie. Straddle my thighs. I’m going to introduce you to some girlish secrets. Why it’s fun to be a woman and have a docile boy like Howie at your beck and call. See how he just meekly stands naked. The likes of boys like Howie enjoy being under the control of girls. You can tell by the way his penis stands."
And so as Aunt Prudence brazenly introduces Kate to the delights of Sapphic pleasure, Howie’s naked form becomes a catalyst for a life of supremacy.
Fingers find the ripening quim. They rub. They bring forth moisture. There are soft encouraging words, disparaging the truckling naked male, offered as Kate’s slipperiness invites admission. Aunt Prudence slyly glides inward to masturbate. It is the first of many baths... of many orgasms... of many evenings in which Kate’s awareness is heightened... that she is a Princess being prepared to become a Queen.
Thereafter, Howie was denied normal clothing at all times while playing about the old mansion. A new paradigm began. He was never again to bother inquiring.... why Kate gets to watch him... whenever he had no clothes... and he never watches her. His clothing was kept under lock and key. And she always watched.
******************************************************************************
"Three inches! Tsk. Tsk. Howie, it’s still shrinking."
Miss Mildred dutifully records her measurement of Howie’s limited stiffness. Knowing full well that the anti androgens have that affect, she wonders whether Kate will ever have him neutered, surgically bringing to conclusion what Aunt Prudence began so many years before.
"Please Miss Mildred, I need to be released."
The expected cramping has begun.
"Kate’s not here yet, You want to properly greet her... bound and helpless. You know it pleases."
"Yes, ma’am," Howie dejectedly replies, knowing his entreaties are never fully addressed.
Still a merciful Miss Mildred finds massage oil. She dabs, she lathes, strong hands bringing partial relief to the subjugated male specimen, he who serves to exemplify feminine superiority.
Within minutes, Howie’s seemingly prepubescent form glows under the bright kitchen lights. A finger diddles to ensure continued tumescence.
"Thank you, Miss Mildred."
"Let me know if you have to go potty," a smiling Miss Mildred encourages, patting the tiny testicles.
Cramps forestalled, Howie remains supine, awkwardly bound, diminutive penis pointing skyward, legs folded beneath, wrists and hands tethered over his belly. Lying so, he awaits. Though uncomfortable there is a sense of giddiness. His penis is free and sister Kate is expected.
******************************************************************************
First there comes the sound of tires, followed by the hum of an automobile engine. A moment of silence. The thud of car door. Howie squirms in anticipation. Miss Mildred returns to the kitchen. There comes the rattle of a door handle as soft fingers caress the underside of his penis. It comically twitches in renewing its stiffness. As the door opens, a bound and naked Howie greets his step sister, standing as firmly as ever.
"Well good evening, pretty boy," the most alluring woman exudes, the tone that of adult to child.
Yes, it is sister Kate... Katherine Windemere Oldham. Blonde, blue eyes, beauty contest perfect in shapeliness, intelligent, bold. The sight of her naked companion refreshes after a grueling day at the office. Kate has assumed the reins of the corporate empire left behind when the plunging Learjet destined adopted children Howie and Kate to be orphans once again... orphans with means. Conservators initially ran the amalgamation, for the most part engaging in a ‘holding’ action, until Kate graduated college. Then she joined the company and with the lessons of Aunt Prudence rose quickly to assume the position of CEO. Aggressive, intuitive, dauntless, the business quickly deviated from its holding pattern. Kate brashly more than doubled the growth rate. With 100% voting control, Howie’s proxy easily secured, long and paralyzing meetings have been replaced with decisive action.
Kate Oldham, empowered and emboldened early in life, is a top ranking executive... both admired and feared.
Miss Mildred steps to the side so Kate can appraise her step brother. The sight brings a smile, her perfectly straight and white teeth sparkling like her diamond earrings. Howie looks up in adoration. Kate Oldham is a man’s dream in terms of sexual attractiveness. He senses a frisson of delight having tediously lain naked and bound for well over an hour. But this is how Kate insists she be greeted in her home... the step brother, trained in adolescence to serve, awaiting her beck and call.
"Can you waggle for me like a good boy?"
Howie smiles. His penis obediently complies and his smile broadens in seeing that his obeisance pleases. A bejeweled hand reaches forth to tweak his left nipple.
"Running a little late, Mildred. I assume you’ve had him well bound and his penis free for an appropriate period of time?"
Mildred looks at her watch.
"Just over ninety minutes, Miss Kate. Howie arrived right on time."
"Good. Well that’s enough for today. Ice him down. Lock him up. I’ll change. He can serve me wine in the den."
Kate tousles her step brother’s golden locks, long for a male, a short style for a woman. Then she bends and kisses his cheek. It is the affection of mother to child, older sister to younger sibling. Howie’s heart leaps.
"How’d you do today, pumpkin?"
"Eight dollars and seventy five cents," Miss Mildred replies on his behalf.
"An improvement, Howie. I had a good day myself... signed the Haidinger contract. It will increase our revenues by fifteen percent."
Kate’s tone is matter of fact. Not intended to boast, she pridefully counters the recapitulation of Howie’s dismal day of shining shoes with her own summation... that of a well negotiated multi million dollar contract.
"You’re going to need to do better, Howie. Miss Mildred takes good care of you and needs to be paid."
Yes, irony of all irony, Howie’s meager earnings are turned over in entirety to Miss Mildred, she who oversees his daily torment.
"We agreed to pay our own way, Howie," sister Kate admonishes in tapping his nose.
Howie blushes. Added to the daily humiliation of feminine governance over his physical well being, there is the economic deprivation. Smart, college educated, Howie shines shoes for a living, if eight dollar days can be so termed. The frustration of listening to sister Kate’s triumphs brings envy.
"I can work. In the business... with you."
"Oh Howie, you know that won’t work. Aunt Prudence decided for you the life you’re to live. You’re still learning your place."
Sister Kate lectures, her gentle breath wafting against Howie’s cheeks. Her left hand lowers, smooths along Howie’s left thigh and finds the emaciated scrotal sac.
"In business, a man needs a good set of these, Howie," a caring hand cupping the peanut sized testicles. "I hire pit bulls, you’re just a cute little poodle."
Kate laughs as she jostles the organs, rendered practically useless by the cruel yet well focused Aunt Prudence. She is careful not to touch the standing penis. With early instruction, she learned years ago Howie’s tiny phallus is merely for amusement... her amusement. She knows he pines for her touch and that must forever be denied.
Still she kneads the sac, having been well educated at a young age concerning the male anatomy, knowing that caressing there heightens but never fulfills male desire.
"Yes, a poodle who so much enjoys showing off for his owner."
Kate rights herself, no longer leaning in proximity as Miss Mildred approaches with a bowl of ice and the steel chastity device cleansed by the dish washer.
"Aunt Prudence’s pills decided your fate, Howie. Destined to serve... me... and those of my choosing. You’re going to have a date on Saturday night. As I said, Miss Mildred needs to be paid."
"Please no, Miss Kate. I’ve been good."
"But you have not earned enough money. A date. Miss Mildred will make you look very pretty. Your talents need to be put to use. It’s a rule of life."
Howie pouts like a child. Sister Kate laughs, though such may be termed more of a snicker in envisioning Howie’s ‘date’.
"Enough free time for you, Howie, You’re going to become spoiled."
Kate steps away and laughs as Howie lurches within his tight bindings, the initial shock of freezing lumps of ice applied to penis and scrotum... a sensation to which one cannot ever become accustomed. His penis instantly deflates as Kate watches in amusement.
"Chardannoy. Have him serve me in the den. I’m going to shower and change."
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