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Lessons In Discipline and Servitude

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Lessons In Discipline and Servitude by Chris Bellows

Thomas De LeRoy relishes life - living like a parasite, feeding off his wife's fortune - enjoying furtive matinee romps at expensive hotels with caviar, fine Champagne and expensive women to satisfy his rapacious lust for female flesh. But when confronted by his wife for his clandestine trysts, Thomas realizes that he's made a big mistake. He's hugely underestimated the will of the lovely heiress, Mrs. Margaret Winthrop DeLeroy. Either he now submit to exactingly applied lessons in discipline and servitude, or he'll be forever impoverished, with no access to her great wealth.

Yet how difficult can his life become when he finds himself exiled to the 'school room' of a remote Pacific Island with a pretty lithe blond and an enchanting Asian woman? He has no idea at the start... though Thomas soon finds out the great depravity of his wife's revenge. He'll be shocked to learn the backgrounds of his mistresses, the luscious young Pattie and the sadistic Bai. Their lessons will both frighten and titillate this unsuspecting male, when he finds himself locked in a chastity belt, beaten and subjected to grotesque and dehumanizing punishments.

Forced chastity, bastinado, severe bondage and restraint, torture, milking, castration, bisexual scenes to make the male reader cringe and body modifications (will the demented Chris Bellows mind ever relent?), all combine to provide D/s scenes which will both horrify and stimulate those who enjoy the depths of Femdom wickedness depicted with exacting diligence.

Students of Female Dominance, prepare to take notes. There will be a test...that of forestalling the libido long enough to finish Chris Bellows' latest effort.

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“Be not so sad, Thomas. I am here and there is the key…” the accent, the diction, is Scandinavian.
A small effeminate hand smoothes over the belt of shiny stainless steel surrounding my waist then teasingly pats the matching crotch piece serving to encapsulate my manhood. I smile with the irony. Blond, blue eyes, boyishly slim, Pattie’s naked form replicates the features of the party girls I so often hired and humped behind my wife’s back. The slight tan will quickly deepen in the equatorial sun and I will have the privilege of watching every inch of the smooth hairless skin turn from slight beige to what I assume will be a most attractive bronze. Pattie has no clothing, my devilish wife ensuring that I will forever gaze upon uncovered buttocks seeming to beg to be split and small girlish breasts with curiously perky nipples. The golden hair is parted in the middle and is cut short in a page boy style, simple and practical, for there will be no opportunity to primp and preen on an island without modern facilities. For that reason, Pattie’s lips have been permanently tattooed an alluring red. Other decorative and permanent coloring has been performed about the eyes obviating the need for eye shadow, mascara and make up and leaving Pattie with this lurid profile... that of a high class Las Vegas hooker on a body of near prepubescence. Quite the contrast... quite enticing... and quite intentionally provocative.
Around Pattie’s neck is a golden chain. Dangling between the slight mounds, mammary glands appearing as those of a fourteen year old, is the key to the many locks which secure my Neosteel belt and all other restraints. I pray that it does not become lost.
The slim hands move to grasp my right arm. I do not resist as it is pushed to my side. Then there comes the sound of a click as a short chain connected to the Neosteel belt at the hip is locked onto my wrist band. Pattie steps around me to secure the left wrist band and within seconds my hands are immobilized.
“It is best for you, Thomas. You will learn to feel better, feel more secure when under control.”
Pattie playfully tweaks my nipples and childishly giggles with my lurching reaction.
“Did you not object when she had that done to you?” I cannot help inquiring as the engines spool to full power and the jet accelerates past us. “The tattooing...”
Pattie pauses letting the craft pass by, the nose rise and the wheels lift and retract. Without concern for noise, the pilot climbs at full power, the impressive machine thundering to quickly ascend towards the sun.
“Once you lose what is most important, what most defines your being, facial coloring is of little concern, Thomas. Mrs. Winthrop wanted me to look pretty for you. Don’t you think I look pretty?”
Pattie speaks, the beseeching question that of an under confident teenaged girl seeking re-enforcement from her father.
“Yes, of course, you’re very attractive,” I find myself agreeing.
And it is true. Mrs. Winthrop spared no expense in the permanent make over. Pattie indeed looks very pretty... almost ravishing should the mammary glands be more feminine. Plus... there is no point in introducing adverse thoughts to our budding relationship. If Pattie needs to hear words of praise... then I will so agree. I must consider who has the key.
Besides, there is the effect of the hormones... the imbalance so cruelly forced on Pattie... which is known to effect thought and emotions. In interacting, I must think of Pattie as a girl.
“Where is Bai?”
“You need her so soon, Thomas?”
“No, I was just curious.”
“Knowing her persuasion, how do you say it? – her gender preference? – she left for the village. I am sure she does not want to be lonely.”
Yes, besides Pattie, the only other fully English speaking person on the island is Bai, a Chinese woman with an unspeakably notorious past. Only my wife, with resources in the billions, could find such a person and offer her what must be quite a lucrative sum for tending to me on the island. It is a one year engagement, but with little amusement it will be a long year. There is the sun, the beach, the ocean, idyllic scenery, and me. Otherwise Bai must fend amongst the native women for other diversions... particularly those deemed libidinous.
“I need to stay in the shade,” I announce in stepping under one of the ubiquitous palm trees.
Yes, more irony. In being banished to probably one of the sunniest places on earth, I cannot for long tolerate the sun’s rays. Whereas my waist belt and crotch covering are lined with neoprene, adding both comfort and insulation, the steel neck collar and the matching seamless steel bands about my wrists are snugly snapped closed and gently abrade the skin. Thus when such radiate in the sunlight, the heated metal burns.
“Your wife was kind. She had the Martin Rigid Stock installed in a hut. You will find protection from the sun there.”
I nod thinking about the length of stainless steel Mrs. Winthrop had installed in a thatched roof hut near the landing strip. Hanging from chains hooked to overhead beams, the copilot and Favio took their time assuring that the stock was at the perfect height, slightly above the level of my eyes, before securing it permanently in place.
“This is where you will greet me when I visit, Thomas. Bai will place you in the stocks and you will wait for me,” my wife explained. “Your neck collar fits perfectly into the openings of the stock as do your wrist bands. Only when you’re restrained will Pattie remove the Neosteel belt and allow your wanton penis to humbly stand in greeting.”
“It’s too high,” I half noted, half protested, the opening for the collar some three inches above my neck.
“So you’ll have to stretch a little,” Mrs. Winthrop insouciantly laughed.
It was irritating, but more so when the copilot and Favio joined in the merriment.
And then the pilot, being the systemized and organized thinker, put in her suggestion.
“Probably best to test it. Make sure it holds his weight.”

Artist Credit

Roman Kasperski

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