OF MALE CHASTITY by Chris Bellows
In this industrious tale of revenge, women of latent power rebel, turn the tides and end their frustration. A frustrated Millicent Hayward decides to end husband Harold's annoying attempts to please himself with his inadequate equipment, locking away an organ which the women of the world will never miss. In doing so she finds a level of arousal not before achieved and a Harold who begins to better perform orally. Curious body modifications assist in Harold's new role and Millicent enters a new world of feminine authority.
After training her husband to offer pleasure but never to receive, she next turns the tables on her once wealthy libertine boss, and Millie learns that she is not alone in her quest to transform male desire into meaningful and ardent feminine ecstasy. The boss has secret penchants that led to an expensive divorce and enables his proficient assistant, the experienced Penepole Teasdale, to take control a very lucrative enterprise. Readers will thrill in learning of Miss Teasdale's background. Just where does a prim and well educated woman learn to so thoroughly control the male organ? Millie is also joined by her jaded neighbor and nurse Julie Danforth who will finally take control of her philandering husband.
In the author's world of feminine dominion, the phallus is deemed superfluous to sexual gratification. Oral pleasure rules. Therefore the penis is best locked away and relegated to being a source of control and torment rather than enjoyment. Instead it is the tongue which best satisfies. And what better way to ensure fervent oral servitude than to demand thorough chastity and thus assure that the male desire for ecstasy be experienced only vicariously, felt through she holding the key to an ineluctable chastity device.
Psychological control, intense humiliation, bondage, moderate corporal punishment, unending CBT, body modification, forced bisexual encounters, all combine to entertain the reader in transforming male hubris to behavior that bests pleases the governing female. Keyholders of the chastity/denial genre will revel in this latest effort by Chris Bellows.
Harold has always been the horse that not only needs to be led to water but also have his snout immersed up to the ears. So I plunk my butt onto the edge of this straight-backed kitchen chair and draw my feet to the side and then back. The motion both parts my knees and causes my loose skirt to hike well up my thighs.
Harold smiles devilishly. He gets it!
“Right here in the kitchen?” he gushes.
I pull my hands and forearms to the back of the chair in a casual motion to stretch and then yawn. The position arches the small of my back and thrusts forth my breasts. Mammaries of which I am quite proud press forward against a tightened bodice and the skirt rides further up my thighs to flash just a hint of pink. Harold gawks. I am pantyless.
‘Drink you dumb beast,’ I think to myself.
“It’s not like we have little children running about, Harold. No one will see. We don’t even have a dog for goodness sake!”
I finally bring forward my hands and lift the hem of my skirt figuratively immersing the equine’s head. In being sans undergarments, Harold finally figures out what his gift will be. He falls to his knees, little realizing it is only the beginning.
I slide forward so that my crevice abuts the front edge of the chair. A randy Harold... yes I know how long it has been... crawls forth to worship at my long neglected temple... neglected orally that is to say.
“As I said... just a little hors d’oeuvre.”
I am shaven but undouched. I know the scent attracts. I think the taste will both thrill and fulfill. In my plan, Harold’s appetizer will become a feast over time. With time comes training... with training comes obedience... with obedience comes gratification... mine.
Harold’s oral efforts are attentive but gruff. He unfortunately offers his tongue and lips like he tries to hump... assaulting more than idolizing. Still, since my own efforts have been limited... by design... his warm wetness feels good. There are definitely possibilities, I think to myself.
I grasp his head and guide, assuring that my outer labia are well laved and the circulation stimulated before encouraging deeper efforts. And I must discourage tongue work on my rapidly stiffening bud. In typical male fashion, he wants to go right for the treasure. That will have to wait.
“See Harold. My hair doesn’t get messed up and afterwards we can go right to dinner,” I justify in tossing off a mild orgasm.
Meanwhile he squirms a bit below the waist. Hmm. Could it be that Harold is becoming hard? It’s difficult to determine with specificity but I surmise that even his small penis is feeling the confines of his undershorts as it stiffens in response to the overwhelming effect of my fine pink charms... the sight, smell, taste and feel of steamy hot feminine flesh.
Despite the many years, he has had little practice. Harold still needs instruction as to best perform cunnilingus. Why don’t they teach this in sex education classes? You’d think he was trying to devour a cactus the way he attacks... as if my moist softness will bite back.
Well, he does manage to sop up the abundant flow of juices, obviating any need to change my skirt before going to dinner. So I let him feast, managing on occasion to pry open my eyes to watch his hands. I know he’s dying to get himself off and that as a male, he has no compunction about playing with himself right in front of me.
Yes, he reaches to his zipper, once again preferencing his pleasure over mine. That won’t do. The new paradigm has begun.
Though I have the physical capacity to toss off a couple more thigh clenchers, when Harold goes for his crotch, I abruptly push away his face and stand.