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Naked Rendition

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Naked Rendition, Femdom BDSM erotica
by Chris Bellows

Why would an innocuous machine tool salesman be of interest to what is obviously a well run, well funded government organization? John W. Davies has no clue...or so it would seem. But when he's drugged, kidnapped and awakens to find himself naked and strapped to a board he has every reason to be afraid. Completely immobilized, his body has been shaved of hair, a steel collar encircles his throat, and he wears a scrotal ring capable of delivering a searing voltage to his genitals. Beside him sits Miss Harper, cool, calm, and in no particular hurry to extract the information she seeks from her helpless victim. She suggests that he's an arms dealer; he insists he's no more than a humble salesman. And thus, the protracted rendition, torture and surrender of John W. begins

The hapless protagonist is subjected to long term bondage and unceasing humiliation, while being attended to by a host of females who use him for their own devious and pleasurable desires. Psychologically stressed, he's ultimately broken,but his plight only begins in earnest upon his release. He becomes the pawn and toy of the cruel interrogator. The beautiful and impervious Miss Harper has come to understand his penchant for feminine governance and furtive craving for subjugation, and she will use this against him as long as he,s under her control.

John W.'s abject humiliation is highlighted by extreme bondage, extensive tattoos, diapering, piss drinking, forced M/m and, finally, the ultimate in male capitulation.

Once again Chris Bellows has penned a tale which will horrify, delight and enthrall the devotee of the superiority of the female. As with all Chris Bellows novels, this work is not to be read by the unwitting.

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The bright lighting in the windowless room is never doused. Instead sleep is encouraged when a nurse merely enshrouds my head with a thick cloth hood. The cycles seem sporadic. Sometimes the hood remaining in place for what I judge to be lengthy intervals. Other times it seems I have barely shut my eyes before one of the pretty Samoans whisks away the dark cloth covering.
Whatever the timing, I know that when the stab of light greets my eyes the receptacle will be offered and I know to empty myself. Failure to do so means either uncomfortably lying for an inordinate period awaiting the next opportunity or wetting myself. And though the nurses are constantly in attendance, they make me lie in my own excretions as punishment for not relieving myself at their behest.
Thus I am essentially being potty trained and know that with the removal of the hood a tender brown hand will hold my penis, knowingly slip back the foreskin and align the tip with the collection vessel.
How many days did it require for me to become so obeisant I do not know. But I do know that lying in urine and begging to be cleansed is not the appropriate option for demonstrating disobedience.
With relative seclusion, the nurses rarely speaking a word, with the extreme bondage, being presented naked to such nubile femininity, I can feel my hormone levels rise. The tender fingers drawing back my foreskin for urination become a catalyst. I can feel my organ begin to firm as a tissue dabs away the final droplets. When controlling hands begin to lather me for shaving my tumescence continues. By the time the warm hands palpate my scrotal sac and the sharp blade of the straight edged razor begins to scythe the stubble of pubic hair, I am completely erect. My penis tip, bulbous and purple, unsheathes to proudly display itself as the nurse ignores my embarrassing condition and dutifully shaves.
During the subsequent sponge bath I remain fully erect and the nurse shows no reaction in dabbing away prostatic fluid which streams down my turgid shaft. On one occasion, when my right arm was freed for its massage, I made a motion in attempting to please myself and bring relief from my most shameful condition. It was then that I once again found how quick and easily the ubiquitous remote control device can discourage disobedience. Yes, the nurse applied a memorable jolt to my scrotal ring and I immediately knew to let my arm go limp and acquiesce to her kneading hands.
And so I become a pile of flesh, mine yes, but ceding all dominion to my bevy of pretty nurses. And I just lie in thought.
Why am I here?

Artist Credit

Roman Kasperski

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