A Woman's Servant 2 E-Book

Chris Bellows

• Herausgeber: pinkflamingo
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

The feminized servant of Nurse Cummings returns for a second semester and, in being quickly re immersed in servitude, her ‘education’ progresses. With maid service perfected, the serving girly boy of Nurse Cummings learns to offer her charms to all, despite her disdain...despite her reluctance. Sensory deprivation breaks the will and, though harsh, a delighted owner transforms her naked servant into a thoroughly pliant and willing purveyor of sexual delight... for all genders. As with all Chris Bellows novels, we warn the readers that this book is not for the timid, firsttimer to Female Domination. Mr. Bellows has the gift of description in his books; so much so, that you feel every snip, every slit and every, single ounce of pain the poor servant is put through.

Leseprobe

A Woman’s Servant: The Second Semester

by Chris Bellows

ISBN: 978-1-938897-80-1

A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

Copyright © 2014, All rights reserved

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

For information contact:

Pink Flamingo Publications

www.pinkflamingo.com

P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

USA

Email Comments: [email protected]

Chapter One

Returning to Servitude

Christy’s flight has landed. The glowing information board suggests luggage will come to conveyor 6. So I stroll and wait, knowing that Christy will have difficulty lifting and that with the bag packed with attire she will never wear while in servitude to me, it is best to quickly renew my governance.

Lots of travelers, the flight I am sure was packed with others returning from the holidays and semester break. Finally, my little serving girl descends the escalator, both excited to see me and apprehensive.

I note the Rhinestone ear studs remain. Christy faithfully emailed me a picture each day with the cheap jewelry dutifully remaining in place. There was also emailed a close up photo of her entrapped penis... draped over the daily newspaper to ensure it was timely taken.

Yes, the teeth bracelet remained in place, holding Christy in chastity during her entire visit home. Extremely difficult to remove, she might have been able to displace and replace it once with a tolerable level of suffering, but thereafter the resulting abrasions of the hyper sensitive penis tip would certainly preclude the rigors of fervent masturbation.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am,” the voice timid.

It excites.

“Come with me to the lady’s room now, Christy. We’ll get your luggage in a moment.”

“But what if someone steals it?”

“It will not matter.”

I take Christy’s hand, leading her like a little girl. She wears a loose satin shirt, appearing more like a blouse, tight white slacks outlining those cheeks I have worked so hard to make roundly effeminate. Yes, her gender is not apparent, the ear studs sparkling. But the hair, long for a boy, short for a girl, is combed to one side, the part on the left suggesting maleness. That will not do.

I have clothing for her, her CB-6000 and a little ointment to assure she is quickly re-immersed into the world of effeminate servitude.

“Any problems getting through security?” knowing that the circle of steel enforcing chastity will never pass the metal detector, thus mandating closer examination.

“Yes, they strip searched me.”

“Entirely? Completely naked? You requested a woman, I hope. You don’t like exhibiting yourself to men.”

“Yes.”

“But why did she make you take off all your clothing? You explained your masturbation problem and divulged the region bearing the metal?”

“She said I was listed... from the flight out last month.”

Christy, I know, likewise did not make it through security on the departing flight to her parents. In an email she explained that an electronic wand was used to localize the questionable metal and she had to lower her zipper and show her laden penis to the female uniformed officer.

I am sure for security the experience was considered one of the more mirthful escapades of an otherwise tedious job. So word must have been forwarded and a sister security agent was alerted to the fun of examining a chastised and feminized male.

Stripped naked! I can picture my trembling little girl as the security guard calls for assistance.

Into the lady’s room, we become an object of attention, Christy not appearing as feminine as desired. But since I am with her, the other women are not overly alarmed and I quickly take my serving girl into a large handicapped stall, close and latch the door.

“Remove everything. I won’t be seen with you looking like that.”

An obedient Christy strips for the second time of her journey as I remove a comb from my large purse and redo her hair, parting in the middle. Some bangs, a spritz of hair spray and now with the scintillating ear studs her gender of transformation becomes more apparent. Next comes her CB-6000, long sharp steel points of intrigue included, not only locking my girl in double chastity, but assuring the slightest twinge, just a modicum of swelling will bring instant pain.

I step back and admire. I have missed governing her nakedness. Some four months of applying strong depilation lotion have decimated the follicles of normal male body hair. The nipples remain pubescently puffy, despite not ingesting prolactin over the past four weeks. The result of my special diet remains, the buttocks quite round and soft.

I smile and cannot resist tenderly pinching then rolling a nipple. Christy squeals like the little girl I am transforming her into.

I have brought her nipple tassels. Thin strips of elastic cord which entwine about the base of protruding nipples, serving to lengthen and stretch, leaving the tips exposed. Fuzzy baubles are attached, freely bobbing about to bring tantalizing pangs of delight. As my fingers work, Christy smiles coyly, the constant sensation well remembered.

Heels are next. Christy slips them on but her right ankle yields and she nearly topples. I laugh and open the jar of unguent I months ago used to great effect. I coat the exposed portion of her nipples then twirl my finger. Christy knows to turn.

“Bend and spread like a good girl.”

Accustomed to my authority over her body... over everything for that matter... Christy complies and I liberally smear her anus and leave an abundance within her gluteal cleft.

When finished Christy rights herself. I stow the unguent. Then withdraw a very short baby doll dress which I simply toss over her head, straps catching at the shoulders, the hem barely covering the plastic of the CB-6000.

This always brings distress. With certain movements Christy will be made to show her encapsulated privates to overly curious eyes. But that is how I like her... on the edge.

As Christy struggles in heels, normal footwear worn during her sojourn home, I retrieve lipstick from my purse. Not having time for more elaborate makeup, I quickly smear her lips, the shade of red that of a trollop.

“Pick up your stuff and let’s get your luggage.”

On the way out I pause and carefully wash my hands. The unguent is the itching compound I cleverly formulated... cetyl alcohol... harmless... and rose hips... incredibly irritating but also otherwise harmless. Applied to parts pink, the tiny hairs of the rose hips will unmercifully tease the sensitive erogenous zones.

Welcome home, Christy.

On the way to the luggage carousel, I direct Christy, footfalls comically awkward, to dump her former apparel into the trash.

Enough of that, I think to myself. Male appearance can imbue false pride and lead to recalcitrance.

Chapter Two

Mr. Feeldoe Awaits

I turn the wheel and traverse the long drive, my house and shed, the final destination, illuminated by the car’s headlights.

Having stopped at the facility where Christy’s clothing and possessions from the first semester have been stored, I summarily tossed her luggage into the small compartment. All that Christy has will come from me. She has nothing other than that which I bestow. I am sure tucked away in some compartment of her suitcase is contraband of some nature. The remaining maleness, what little may be, probably packed things like pornographic magazines.

Christy remains pouting. I am sure my summary action disrupted some plans of the little minx. She also squirms, her somatic reaction to the itching solution ironically serving to bring more and more itch.

I pull up and stop the car.

“To the shed, strip and hang up your dress. Your shoes, collar and cuffs await.”

Other than her maid’s costume for special guests and occasions, Christy will never step foot in my house other than while naked... except for restraints, of course.

It’s a somewhat brisk January evening. The shed is unheated so I know she will be quick. And she fidgets delightfully, pink parts exposed now for nearly an hour to my devilish concoction.

“What’s the matter?” I inquire, seeing a tiny hand struggling with the door handle.

“I itch, Ma’am... it’s that stuff.”

“It awakens the nerves, don’t you think? All those little girl anatomical parts.”

“May I touch?”

“No. But if you’d like, Mr. Feeldoe is in need of attention.”

My words both thrill and bring concern. Christy has not been milked in four weeks, therapy offered bi weekly during the first semester. And her anus has become delightfully receptive to penetration under my tutelage. But kneading the prostate brings a need to harden. And Christy knows too well that will only happen most painfully with the teeth bracelet and steel points of intrigue in place.

“Will you let me get hard for you?”

“No. You’ll need to concentrate and stay flaccid... or endure the punishment of the points. I want you neutered, Christy... mentally emasculated. It empowers and brings me pleasure. And you want that... you want me to have pleasure. It is your role. It is best for you.”

Christy exits the car in thought. Yes, I want her quickly re-immersed... and that is best done with a thorough fucking.

“I’ll be upstairs. You know where to find Mr. Feeldoe...”

I enter through the kitchen. Mr. Feeldoe lies in wait, the double dildo on the counter next to the refrigerator as always. With the cold, I know Christy will change quickly, no dawdling. Any time spent ameliorating the itching will be time fostering the discomfort of chilliness.

So I climb to my bedroom and remove my garb. With Christy’s penis so strictly encapsulated, it’s amusing to have him constantly fighting tumescence. Still she likes looking at me, envious of my womanly charms, while she can only endeavor to subscribe to the sham of femininity.

Within minutes I hear the eager footsteps. Christy enters, Posey cuffs encircling wrists and ankles, high posture collar in place, special footwear for boys learning to be girls offering better mobility. In her mouth is the male end of the Feeldoe, the driver’s end, the female end, licked in lubrication.

She gawks, quivering with anticipation as I stand proximate, large breasts displayed, and check the many small padlocks which hold in place the restraints. All dutifully snapped closed, I pull her wrists behind her back and clip them together. Then I toy with nipples I know to be burning with need. I hear a murmur of relief, see her eyes close.

“You’ve missed me?” I teasingly suggest.

Mouth stuffed, male end abrading her throat, she can only nod.

“Yes, girls like you need a good fucking from time to time. Keeps them humble... and makes them eager for the next fucking.”

I press on Christy shoulders. She knows to kneel as I part my feet and relax the Kegel muscles. By now Christy knows the female anatomy, appropriately presenting the bulbous driver’s end, holding firmly while I mount and impale myself.

“Ahh,” letting an exaggerated sigh express the joy she’ll never have.

I step back, Christy knowing to let the male end slide from her mouth.

“I think I’ll take you sitting in the chair. Let you do the work.”

I so position myself and Christy eagerly turns her soft rounded buttocks to me, her burning rectum screaming for penetration. She lowers, I guide. Despite not being opened for many weeks, the tightness yields. Christy emits a plaintive ‘ahh’ of her own. When my arms enshroud the shoulders, my fingers toy with her inflamed nipples. There comes a meek ‘thank you’. Then she begins to fuck herself, thighs moving, knees bending, while I absorb the physical pleasure of a jostling driver’s end and the psychological thrill of my empowerment.

Up, down, up, down, my right hand moves to the cockcage. Prostatic fluid drools in abundance, Christy’s deprived male gland well overdue for stimulation.

“You’ll sleep here tonight. I want you suspended, helplessly languishing from the ceiling hook. I need to feel my power. I’ve missed it.”

Chapter Three

Suspension

Considering Christy has had some four weeks of relative vanilla living, ear studs and teeth bracelet notwithstanding, she took well to a good fucking. She timed well the rhythm of her anus, pressing open upon my thrusts then squeezing with each withdrawal to add to the delight, the driver end more forcefully kneading my urethral sponge.

Meanwhile she managed to stay relatively flaccid, her penis effectively encased in barbed wire, though certain grimaces suggested the denied phallus was at times challenged.

Mentally neutered... at my behest. The thought thrills.

“Good girl, Christy. Go put on your harness. I want you hanging for the night.”

I orgasmed three times. Sitting beneath proved to be much less physically demanding, Christy’s leg muscles quite strained as she pumped up and down while I only had to gyrate my hips. Still I am worn from the multiple climaxes and only arise when Christy returns donning the harness, the clever set of padded straps encircling her waist, crisscrossing her back and torso and slipping between her thighs.

“A treat for your return, Christy. You’ll sleep in here tonight.”

Normally Christy sleeps tethered to the floor in the spare bedroom, held immobile and hooded. So as I push a chair under the ceiling hook, Christy gushes with my generous gesture of welcome back.

“No hood? Please.”

I smile. Christy likes looking at me and indeed I remain denuded, her eyes glued to my breasts.

“For a while... if you’re a good girl.”

I clip Christy’s wrist cuffs to the waist belt, step up on the chair to attach the ceiling chain, then dismount.

“Up,” I command, patting where I just stood.

Christy reluctantly steps up, knowing that her vestigial male psyche will be put to the test. In suspending the male, stress on the spinal cord promotes erection, that which my steel trinkets deny. Thus, though surprisingly comfortable, the harness well designed, suspension brings the need for concentration, once again the need to contest the male urge to harden and to instead remain flaccid.

I connect the chain to the large ring at the nape of the neck then slowly push away the chair. This leaves Christy dangling in the room air, and I am pleasantly surprised to find I have judged well. Her head is at the height of my shoulders, my breasts well within range of a tongue I have had altered, strengthened and stretched.

So when I step close, without hesitation that long pink wet appendage brazenly thrusts forth and licks my right nipple.

“Naughty girl, Christy, you should ask,” I admonish mildly.

But I do not withdraw and let her lick more, reaching under and in turn toying with her nipples. Such remain inflamed and my touch serves to extinguish the remaining fire of my itching lotion just as I did with her rectum.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” a humble Christy so tenderly offers.

Quite the poignant scene. But more importantly I am transforming, in a way deleting the penis as an erogenous zone, to be replaced by the anus and these once male nipples... now appearing to be atop prepubescent breasts. Easy to do with the castrated male, I see it daily at the Institute.

I deem the moments of suckling to be welcome enough and step away, Christy helpless to deter the end of her treat.

“Dr. Powers says you’ve been missed at the club. I told him you’d resume your duties on Thursday,” my words offered as I retrieve a strap for the ankles.

This immediately changes the mood. Christy’s homophobia remains despite living as a naked servant with me and forced to confront her academic pursuits dressed as a girl. She objects.

“I’d rather not, Ma’am.”

I attach the strap to the Posey ankle cuffs then lift and hook it to the chain, bringing my naked hanging girl to a horizontal position... that in which she can sleep. In thought, I do not respond to Christy’s objection. Though Dr. Powers has emailed me photos of Christy at the club, serving in quirky costumery, I have no detailed knowledge of what is demanded of her to earn the enormous emoluments that arrive in the mail every Monday thereafter.

“I think I will offer Dr. Powers some of my lotion for your rectum and nipples. That may change your desire,” my subtle threat offered as I playfully tap her nose.

“No, please don’t do that,” Christy beseeches.

“I’ll give it some thought. The itch brings attention to where I want you to feel a need. You were certainly eager to greet Mr. Feeldoe tonight, weren’t you? You wanted a good fucking, naughty girl.”

Christy blushes divinely, though chagrined, apparently pleased to be my little harlot.

I turn down the lights, leaving on a dim lamp in the corner. Then I turn up the heat so I can sleep without covers. Yes, Christy will remain unhooded, free to adore my nakedness for the remainder of the night.

“Sleep well,” my words offered as I teasingly caress the exposed portion of her scrotum.

Chapter Four

Meetings with the Dean

As we settle into the second semester we fall into our daily protocol, some changes due to Christy’s new class schedule. But I remain monitoring Christy’s computer time, her emails included.

It’s a cold morning with Christy doing her mandatory laps in the corral, almost jogging in heels to spur body heat. I work in the den occasionally looking up to see the cold nakedness prancing about, those rolling cheeks remaining alluring.

I note that Christy has received an email from Dean Hooper’s office, which, of course, means Miss Evers. It seems she has reviewed Christy’s schedule and concluded that late Monday would be the best time to resume her meetings with the Dean. Quite the prevenient lass... quite the determined Dean.

In thinking of the young and forthright Miss Evers, perhaps it is time for Christy to get to know her better. The thought brings a smile, knowing that her abrupt manner Christy finds to be obnoxious. She’s pretty, about Christy’s age and very much in control, utilizing her position as major domo to the Dean with great effect.

So when I deem Christy to have adequate exercise, moving to the kitchen door to offer a welcomed clap of my hands to conclude Christy’s chilly outdoor romp, I broach the subject as Christy kneels on all four and I cleanse.

“You’re to once again visit the Dean, Christy, Monday’s at 4:00 p.m.”

With my hands palpating I can feel her reaction... she tenses. Submitting to the Dean... exposing herself to Miss Evers... quite the mental/emotional trauma.

“I’d rather not, Ma’am, she just... she just...”

“Uses you like a whore,” I finish the thought for her. “Well that is good for you. Keeps a girl humble and in her place. And keeps you open for Mr. Feeldoe,” I remind with a snicker.

As I speak I reach under and give the smooth soft tummy an inspecting feel, Christy slowly filling with her daily enema.

“Well if you’re going to graduate, I suspect you will be paying homage to the Dean on a regular basis. And be sure you please Miss Evers as well. She seems to wield a lot of influence.”

“She makes me take off my clothes... and wait,” the thought obviously of great irritation.

“It is best for you. You will obey her... as you do all women,” my tone becoming maternally firm. “And I think it would be nice to invite her to dinner some evening. It can’t hurt to brownnose a little. She can help you.”

With my fingers working Christy’s flesh, I can feel I struck a nerve. She stiffens. Though I find the youthful Miss Evers to be refreshing and vigorous, for Christy to subjugate herself to a girl her own age horripilates.

“No. I won’t do that.”

“Then I will. And you will serve. In your maid’s costume. I think Miss Evers will be pleased... if not quite amused.”

I counter Christy’s fractiousness by letting the enema flow... and flow... and flow.

“I wonder if she as ever observed a prostate milking,” I muse.

My words again bring tension. This brings a smile and a thought.

“Yes, I’ll milk you for her. If you’re polite and obedient I’ll use ice. If not we’ll let the points and the teeth bracelet discipline you... with Miss Evers watching. Yes, she’ll definitely be amused.”

Chapter Five

Emails from the Gentlemen’s Club

It’s Sunday. Christy has finished her exercise, scurrying about the corral in the cold January air. She was quite happy to be bathed, the application of warm soapy water finally loosening a scrotal sac that comically appeared to be trying to snuggle into the body heat of her inguinal canals. The control ring of the CB-6000 obviously averted complete disappearance and her little testicles eventually returned to full view.

So we lounge in the den, a naked Christy working on schoolwork while I peck away at the computer.

“You meet with the Dean tomorrow. Remember to ask Miss Evers to dinner. Any night but Thursdays when you work at the club.”

Christy ruefully nods. Though accustomed to performing and displaying herself naked before women, Miss Evers seems to push her buttons. Since I like to see naked young girly boys have their buttons pushed, it should be quite entertaining.

I have an email, from Dr. Powers and his so termed ‘gentlemen’s club’. Christy worked her shift there on Thursday. In arriving home late there was no discussion concerning the antics. Friday was a full day of classes and on Saturdays we focus on the beauty parlor. So I have had no feedback and Christy is always reticent concerning her labors, not offering anything unless I inquire.

Dr. Powers includes a brief note, but mainly the email is comprised of photo attachments.

Nurse Cummings,

Having Christy back with us gave rise to quite the entertaining evening. The members very much appreciate her efforts.

Enjoy the photos,

Dr. Powers

My having to offer Christy... and her servitude... to the gentlemen’s club members is nothing more than extortion. Yet other than having to arrange my own dinner once per week, the rendezvous results in very little inconvenience on my part. Plus it does broaden Christy’s training... not to mention delightfully grating her homophobia.

I open the first photo and laugh, quickly concluding that Christy will need to be fully debriefed on her night of subjugation. I have a hand of ginger in the refrigerator and have trained her to carve a proper sized anal plug. Thus anything but the full story... and such must correlate with the photos I am viewing... will result in a figging.

The first photo is of a completely naked Christy as someone... hands in the photograph, no facial features... is applying red body paint. The shade is alarmingly bright, that of a stop sign glowing in bright headlights.

I click away, opening photo after photo, as Christy is adorned. From her neck to her ankles she is painted, but for entertainment purposes I am sure, her bare flesh shows within circles about her breasts, if such is the proper term, and those buttocks I have pridefully shaped.

A loin cloth, matching crimson, encircles her waist and dips between her thighs to cloak her CB-6000; I am sure evidence of maleness being deemed offensive to the ‘gentlemen’ members. I note that it does not attach at the back of the waist but instead splits and the ends tie off just below the buttocks at the top of the thighs, leaving Christy’s crevice unimpaired.

The cheap ear studs have been removed and replaced with stunning diamond pendants, scintillating with the camera flash. A matching pair dangles from where the nipple tassels are normally attached.

As a woman I must wonder whether the sparkling jewelry is real. Based on the size of the cash envelope I receive every Monday after her servitude, I must guess yes. The members of the club are both affluent and generous.

Lastly, the wrists and ankles are once again circled with thin cloth straps, this time white, loose strands flopping about and flashing with more diamonds.

The faux restraints are useless for real bondage, nothing more than for show, reminding all of Christy’s status as serving slave. Once again the image of a bacchanalia with toga bearing Roman elite and naked boys comes to mind. Yet, the photos are either carefully angled or cropped to reveal no other identifiable person, the secretive club most clandestine.

“So, Christy, tell me about your servitude at the club on Thursday...” unaware that I am peering at telling photos.

As I prompt Christy to speak, I view the final photo. Christy is on a small stage, perched on heels, offering a profile to the camera. The backdrop is red. The above lighting is also red as is a spotlight. The resulting image appears that, below Christy’s prettified face, there are only diamond tipped breasts and buttocks, under the special lighting her red coated flesh blending with the back drop.

She becomes an erotic symbol, a thing, a set of faux female organs, sparkling jewelry grabbing the eye and diverting the viewer’s gaze from all except nipples and buttocks.

With digital photography, it is facile to zoom inward. And on close examination, I detect tears of humiliation. I have no conception of the size of the crowd of ‘gentlemen’ for whom Christy was forced to perform. But it is evident that the objectification of her feminized body brought an intense feeling of degradation.

Delightful!

“They made me dance,” Christy sadly proclaims. “On a stage... with lots of makeup.”

“Did you enjoy that? Showing yourself naked to all those men?”

“No.”

“How many. What did you do?”

“Dozens, I guess. They made me twirl things attached to my nipples. Made me practice and practice.”

I smile with the irony, Christy forced to replicate a burlesque act, normally performed by a well breasted woman who, with diligent shoulder motion, could make nipple adornments rotate like small propellers.

Obviously with the gender preference of the members, having a girly boy perform the deed is much more enticing. And as stated, with the body paint and lighting, Christy appears to be all buttocks and breasts. I am sure her face remained unpainted so that the emotional strain of her exhibition could be well viewed... women of my ilk not the only assemblage to be amused by intense male humiliation.

No, they found great recreation in Christy’s plight, the devastation of her psyche.

“What else? That couldn’t have occupied your entire evening.”

“They made me jiggle my fanny,” Christy girlishly reports.

There are no photos evidencing that, apparently the cameraman too occupied with Christy’s show to record the ongoing debasement. So I make her tell every detail.

Christy, having learned to twirl her nipple jewelry to satisfaction, was instructed to turn her back to the audience and saucily rotate her hips, gyrate her thighs, to luridly make the soft flesh of her buttocks flap in invitation.

Later she was made to bend at the waist, forehead nearly to the floor, obscenely spread her thighs, hands parting her cheeks to fully display what the ‘gentlemen’ described as her ‘pussy’. And I suppose for males of their gender preference, such a term is probably apt.

“Well, it seems you had an exciting evening. You will learn to enjoy stimulating men, it’s part of the process of altering you. First your looks, your body, then your mind.”

Christy is forlorn, not fully understanding the transformation and the contrasting feelings... the aversion... the enjoyment.

“May I get Mr. Feeldoe, Ma’am?”

The question brings a knowing smirk and a sense of progress. Christy finds psychological comfort in my governance, manifested most evidently by being penetrated.

“No. I’ll decide when you get fanny fucked. It’s study time.”