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chrisbellows

Male Dominant, 26, orange county, California
Male Submissive, 41, North Hollywood, California
chrisbacks55
Male Submissive, 24, park forest, Illinois
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About chrisbellows

I write erotica and from time to time enjoy exchanging thoughts with people in the D/s community.

I write professionally for Pink Flamingo and have contributed free stuff to various erotic sites on the internet such as the Eunuch Archive and Dark Connections.

A bargain sampler is available on Lulu. Content 4286971.

See also Lulu for Pony stories which aficionados of the genre will enjoy. Content 314775 & 1195861.

A Maledom/Female dom/female sub story 'The Glass Oubliette is available on Lulu item 2053235.

So please do not be annoyed if I drop a note. It means I have found your profile to be interesting and wish to learn more.

************************************************************************

Something to sample. The complete story available at http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/the-peg-board/ebook/product-22176850.html

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The Peg Board

Copyright 2014

By Chris Bellows

“The new prisoner gunned me again,” the uniformed guard reports.

“Really! Curious how quickly they learn these nasty habits,” the warden’s shock feigned. “Should we have him ride the peg board?”

The guard smiles wickedly with the thought, her mischievous twinkling eyes meeting those of the warden.

“The other prisoners probably put him up to it... knowing how firmly we deal with it. He’s young. Drops his pants and get’s it stiff very quickly... and strokes with quickness as well. I pretend to be disgusted, of course. But he’s a handsome lad, fun to watch.”

“Well breaking the regulations is breaking the regulations,” the warden sighing with her axiom. “Get a picture for the files... in case he threatens to file a formal complaint after we have him ride for us,” the warden pushing a digital camera across her desk. “And inform Nurse Benson... we’ll not want to run low on nitric oxide.”

As the guard takes the camera, the women together laugh, the warden’s concern a sham. Nurse Benson is known for her vast supply and generous injections.

Prisoners engage in the so termed act of ‘gunning’ as a symbol of defiance... exposing themselves and masturbating before the female guard they choose to deride. Little do they realize that in breaking prison rules they not only make themselves vulnerable to punishment and rebuke but also most of the seasoned guards find licentious humor in watching the young priapic males perform for them.

After all, who is ultimately in control, the guard who can bring discipline to the transgressor... or the half naked incarcerated male behind bars of steel?

It is control that is coveted at Mooresgate Penitentiary. And under Warden Judy Hardstone’s tutelage the control is both feminine and thorough.

“Think he’ll go at it again, Edith?”

“He didn’t get himself off... no ejaculation... and the other prisoners egged him on... so he thinks it’s a way of earning their respect. So, yes, he’ll be gunning more... until he rides for us.”

“Well if he’s that young... and virile... perhaps he’ll break the record for us.”

“Twelve hours? His penis will explode!”

“No, with Nurse Benson it will only feel like it will explode,” both women laughing boisterously with the image.

*****************************************************************************

Drug mule Ricardo Mondez was engaged by the Bandolero Cartel for his obedience and his brawn... not for his brains. Transporting cocaine can be lucrative. Getting caught rare if one is smart... and clean. Ricardo was neither, dipping into the last parcel to sample the boss’s product. When pulled over for exceeding the speed limit, denying possession of an illegal substance was counter to the telling trace of white powder under his nose.

As a result of his disloyalty in sampling and stupidity in getting caught, the Cartel gave him up. No expensive lawyers for Ricardo. With great legal diligence, the public defender managed to get him the maximum sentence... hard time at Mooresgate.

Abandoned by the Cartel, betrayed by sloppy lawyering, Ricardo needs a friend... the more the better. And upon arrival in his new home, cell block D at Mooresgate, in order to ingratiate himself to his fellow prisoners, he eagerly responded when the act of ‘gunning’ was suggested as an appropriate symbol of defiance.

Little does he realize he’s being set up. So many gunning inmates have ridden the peg board... all now chagrined... all now obeisant to the Warden and her strict cohorts.

So Ricardo awaits in his cell, ready to drop his pants and stroke himself to the encouraging jeers and cheers of the other inmates. His thoughts are enthusiastic, on the two prior gunning episodes the guard was well repulsed, his new friends impressed with his willingness to defy female authority, the prison and the rules.

Guard Edith returns to cell block D, camera in hand.

“Mondez, to the bars!” Guard Edith calls out in strolling down the hallway lined with steel bars.

Well forewarned, Ricardo Mondez drops his pants. His compatriots in the adjoining cells begin the whistles and catcalls. When Guard Edith reaches Cell 224, she has the camera at the ready. As expected Ricardo is gunning... standing and stroking himself with fervor, his semi engorged manhood rapidly coming to full stiffness. He expects to hear words of disgust. Instead he hears clicks as the camera flashes.

“So you like to see a hard cock, bitch? Going to show your needle dicked husband pictures of what real wood looks like? Ha, ha, ha.”

Guard Edith smiles demurely, clicks again then offers a come hither motion, beckoning Mondez to join her at the bars.

“You want a close up, bitch!” the inmate shuffling forth, pants at his ankles.

Guard Edith stows the camera in the pocket of her uniform and retrieves a tiny spray bottle. In violation of rules.... Bureau of Prison rules, not those of Warden Hardstone... Guard Edith has armed herself with the tiniest amount of the powerful narcotic fentanyl.

“You’re going down, big boy.”

“Bull...”

The expletive is not completed. A spritz to the face and Ricardo Mondez indeed goes down, legs turning to rubber under the influence of a substance 100 times more powerful than morphine.

Guard Edith turns to the nearby intercom, the cell block instantly turning to silence.

“We have a prisoner taken suddenly ill. Block D, cell 224,” her voice firm but nonchalant.

“Is he going to ride for you, Miss Edith?” an experienced inmate politely calls out in inquiry.

“You boys should be ashamed putting him up to this. Imagine how upset I am in being exposed to such aberrant behavior. Anyone else care to do some gunning?”

The ensuing silence bespeaks of authority... feminine authority.

*****************************************************************************

“Already shaved and tubed,” Guard Edith compliments.

A glabrous and groggy Ricardo Mondez looks up from the gurney. Having been quickly removed from his cell, the fentanyl rendering him unconscious, an attentive and prepared Nurse Benson shaved his entire body... arms, legs, chest, pubes... even his head. A feeding tube has been introduced into his left nostril, slipped through his sinuses then downward to his stomach.

He lies naked, prison uniform removed, ankles and wrists bearing institutional Posey cuffs in four point restraint, strapped to the sturdy rails of the gurney.

“Where am I?” a now meek Ricardo Mondez inquires.

“The prison infirmary... for now. Next stop, the Warden’s office.”

“What’s in my nose?”

“A feeding tube. At present, we’re hydrating you. A nice full bladder will make it easier for you to perform for us,” Nurse Benson explains. “And I understand you like to perform for women,” her tone pleasant but mocking.

“You’ve measured him?”

Nurse Benson nods, offering Guard Edith a slip of paper.

“Thirty inches should make it snug but comfortable.”

“I’ll have the board adjusted and at the ready. You’re going to do some serious gunning for us, big boy,” Guard Edith chides.

“He’s nicely hung. Have you spread the word?”

“Word travels fast enough. I’m sure the Warden will have lots of visitors.”

Guard Edith departs for the Warden’s office. Nurse Benson notes that the drip bag of water, slowly inducing liquid directly into the inmate’s stomach, is empty.

“Goodness, you’ve already taken a liter,” reaching up to the stanchion to replace it.
Latest story... from my blog...

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Miss Amanda’s Bitch Boys

Copyright 2015

by Chris Bellows

“I may be a bitch. But you’re going to be my bitch.”

Guard Amanda Contrell’s words are calm and cool. She smiles, always enjoying the arrival of a big, rugged, recalcitrant inmate. For in the end each one falls so hard and begs so pitifully. As the immense woman of color stands arms akimbo at the cell bars, verbally jousting with the new arrival, she surveys the supine and yoked form with a sang froid which brings disquiet. For the powerful prisoner, known as ‘Leg Breaker Luke’, expects his hissing menacing words to bring distress.

Instead his insult seems to have amused the brown uniformed woman and brought awed silence from the five inmates in adjoining cells. Guard Amanda Contrell is rarely spoken to in a derogatory manner... much less be termed a bitch.

She must be aware of my convictions, my years of contract killing, Luke Donovan thinks to himself. Even grizzled mobsters have been known to fear him. Yet this woman cowers not.

“Shall I show you how we use your new jewelry, Luke boy?”

“That’s Donovan... Luke Donovan.”

“In this cell block, it’s Luke boy... or whatever I decide.”

Amanda Contrell reaches to the right. Through the bars she grasps a thin cord... ironically thin... mercifully thin. For it is designed to break should a guard inadvertently... or perhaps in anger... pull too hard.

“Get off your cot and come here to me at the bars. We need to sort out the hierarchy, Luke boy. I know you’ve served time before... juvenile crimes. But this is super max. This is where we tame the hardest, the toughest, the most belligerent.”

The meaty dark hand slowly, almost gracefully tugs. Amanda recalls her training as a teen, a summer on a ranch, learning horses... memorable times for a city girl. And in pulling on the defacto leash the advice of a wizened ranch hand comes to mind, crassly worded, as she for the first time took the bridle reins of a huge and imposing stallion.

‘Think of the bit as pinching your cunny, sweetheart. The horse’s mouth is that sensitive.’

And indeed, the slightest tension instantly commanded the stallion’s attention

And so, despite the feisty words, the truculent attitude, Amanda kindly takes control, pulling inmate Luke to the bars.  

“What the fuck!” Luke Donovan gasping in pain.

The words bring another smile... a knowing, matronly smile.

“You don’t think the Bureau of Prisons bestowed a steel ring on you just to improve your looks do you?”

Amanda thrills with a prisoner’s discovery of the simple but most effective trinket of restraint, control and punishment. Surgically implanted into the cartilage of the septum, the heavily gauged stainless ellipse is unlikely to tear away. But it will impart an unforgettable burst of agony, the nerve endings transmitting immediate messages to the cerebral cortex... the most important of which is... minimize the tension... capitulate... and quickly.

And so the yoked inmate jumps... awkwardly... from his supine position and follows the taut string... really a thread... to where Guard Amanda Contrell awaits. Both quick and obsequious, his reaction ends the stunned silence of the cell block, his fellow inmates laughing raucously.

“Good boy,” Amanda taking in the slack, holding her hand high to force the mammoth prisoner well up on his toes.

“How does the yoke feel?” a notable wince obviating an answer.

“Fuck you!” exhaling in pain.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too tight. With the body scans they tend to get the measurements just right. And you’ll become accustomed to it in time.”

Resting on Luke Donovan’s shoulders, probably in violation of most conventional rules and regulations throughout the world’s institutions of incarceration, is a rectangular block of thick polymer. Light but strong, smooth yet inexorable, it’s sealed, perfectly measured holes entrapping the neck and wrists, making the hands useless... for aggression... for eating... and most distressingly for the long term incarcerated... for masturbation. To be removed only upon years of demonstrated tamed behavior, ultimate release from prison or death, Guard Amanda knows for the likes of Luke Donovan, serving 19 consecutive life terms for first degree murder, the latter will be the case.

With a simple knot, Amanda reties the defacto leash high on the bars, freeing her hands. Next she lowers, reaching through the bars at the waist of inmate Luke Donovan. There she works the belt buckle.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just a little demonstration of the power exchange you’ll need to adapt to here. Most new inmates get it at chow... when they discover the need to either find politeness and be spoon fed... or eat from a bowl like a dog. For you Luke boy, I think the lesson needs to start now.”       

With that the inmate’s slacks are unbuttoned, the zipper lowered and Amanda stoops to pull the canvas grey pants to the concrete floor.

“Now be a good boy and step out of your trousers. Slippers too.”

Amanda commands as she rights herself and her thumbs slip under the waist band of prison issue underpants. In a well practiced move she lowers herself again, whisking the newly issued shorts to the floor as well, stripping Luke Donovan waist to ankles.

“You can’t do this!”

“I just did. And if I have to forcefully pull your clothes out from under you, it will be agonizing should you trip and fall. That nose ring is effective, I assure you. So be a good boy. Step out, slippers too. Let’s begin your lesson.”

Luke reflects and realizes the woman’s warning is to be heeded, standing balanced on toes. He is aggravated, appalled... and uncharacteristically bashful. For upon entry to super max, prisoners are deloused, the process involving the removal of most hair. Thus he stands before the woman he insulted as being a ‘bitch’, not only half naked but without the veil of manly foliage.     

“Yes, Luke boy, you look like a plucked chicken... just like every prisoner I have to strip naked for behavioral reasons,” the words intended to sooth as Guard Amanda spirits away the slippers and garments.

Pulling the clothing through the bars, a brown right hand returns to reach through and cup a shorn low hanging scrotal pouch. Luke is aghast with the intimate handling, but quickly understands his vulnerability, hands useless, nose ring tied off high. And then comes the grip... firm... frighteningly comfortable. The woman has before handled a man, he quickly comes to realize. But then comes a threatening squeeze, his precious organs susceptible to a woman’s whimsy.

“I’m reporting this!”

“To whom? And to what end, other than to gain a reputation as a prison rat?”

Amanda’s thumb palpates, brushing over the top of the scrotum, assessing the jewels within. Nice and plump. She feels a twinge, within her loins. Power over the virile male... a serial killer for hire... brings sexual thrill.

“Yes, Luke boy, you’re going to be my bitch.”

Amanda releases, offering a concerned Luke a moment of reprieve. But then her hands move higher, working the Velcro strips of the special prison shirt, to be removed for laundering without requiring release from the yoke. Yes, the sleeves part open without delay. Within seconds killer Luke Donovan stands completely naked. Again, no chest hair, the nipples invite. And Amanda, smiling wickedly, accepts the invitation.

“Nice tits. You’re going to make a fine bitch indeed,” fingers tweaking right nipple then left. “We’ll talk again... in an hour or two. In time I’ll give you an introduction... to some of my other bitches...” Amanda casually strolling the corridor.

“You can’t leave me like this!” killer Luke Donovan immediately assessing his precarious position, forcibly held by a simple thread and ring of steel, forehead pressed to the bars as toes and feet strain.

“I just did,” Amanda playfully calls out from her observation room at the end of the cell block.
From my blog... enjoy.

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"I want him to feel owned... I want his will crushed... I want him to think of himself as an animal."

The sizable woman of color listens and nods between each edict, the Princess pausing in thought as she regally sits astride her white stallion looking down at her loyal executioner.

Her declamations have the rule of law. To disobey... well... Kendra merely has to gaze upon the once proud male figure kneeling at her feet in intense suffering to understand the consequences.

"I will have him displayed from time to time. Subjects who consider questioning my power, my authority, need a reminder. There will be a time when I become Queen. For my subjects the transition will be easier understanding that betrayal, even the slightest hint of rebellion, will be met with swift judgement and long, slow retribution."

"May I modify, your highness... his bonds?"

"He is yours to work. Other than assuring that he is well watered and well fed to ensure a long agonizing existence, alter as you desire. If you brand him, make sure he heals well and does not infect. I want my livestock to have the best of care."

With that the Princess chortles, noting the look of dismay on the naked form kneeling in chains.

"Yes, I know of your penchant for black smithing, Kendra. That?s why I have engaged you. The gothic look of black iron adorning a supplicating male can be most stimulating."

Kendra nods in agreement, cloaking a wry smile. She dares not display her eagerness for the task assigned.

"I?ll be back to observe from time to time. I have a young castrate who savors having his head lodged between my thighs. I find his nimble tongue to be most satisfying when I?m watching a man labor in torment. I am sure you will accommodate with the appropriate scenario."

Kendra nods again this time curtsying as well, lowering her face to hide a broadened smile that cannot otherwise be masked.

"And Kendra, it goes without saying that he shall not touch himself. It?s that obnoxious appendage that brought his downfall. Make sure it no longer brings him joy."

"Yes, your Highness. Slow castration?"

"No. For now I want him always to sense the desire that I will forever deny satiating. Emasculation brings inner languor. Besides I want him able to expend much energy while he?s worked. You know that castrates get fat and lazy. But when he slows... no longer able to respond to your whip and commands... well it is then that you might as well pluck his balls."

Kendra nods, her smile broadening as the Princess describes altering a man as simply as one would harvest fruit. Having incised countless scrotums, she understands that the neutered become feckless. Instead, the frustration of endless denial can greatly enhance daily torment. The castrates, on the other hand, become peaceful... too peaceful. Too accepting of torture.

A well manicured but firm hand tugs on the reins. The huge stallion turns and instantly thunders off in a gallop. Kendra watches as the silhouette of the beautiful Princess disappears over a crest, a pluming trail of dust slowly returning to earth.

"Caught fucking one of the maids. And there were such prevalent rumors of pending marriage. Tsk. Tsk."

An enormous brown hand, baked to deep mocha in the tropical sun, reaches down. Kendra understands that it is best to establish her control quickly, particularly with the likes of the once influential now downtrodden. As close advisor and lover to the Princess, until two days before, the handsome athletic male is not accustomed to feminine governance... at least not the strict physical governance meted by Kendra. He has lived a life of luxury and leisure.

With her new task, she has been relieved of most of her duties in the Kingdom?s squalid jails. Torturing, castrating, executing, her reputation precedes her. She smiles in noting that her charge is shaking... and it cannot be the ?coolness? of the equatorial sun. Perspiration oozes despite his nakedness. The temperature approaches 100 degrees. No... he quakes in fear.

"Scared? You should be. A new life is to begin. Work hard. Serve me well. Please the Princess. It will be a simple existence. Though the drudgery will drive you mad... I am known to break the monotony with amusement... for me."

Kendra snickers as the hand grasps the dangling strands of rubber tubing emanating from the man?s nostrils. Deviant medical types have threaded the single length of tubing up one nostril, across the sinus cavity and the down the other... forming a very convenient and convincing leash... used by the Princess in leading to the secluded water hole. Kendra marvels as a slight grip and pull evokes a whimper and an instantaneous response, the head striving to follow her hand.

Though six foot, well muscled, able to physically subdue all but the most powerful males, Kendra realizes that when so bound and leashed, a mere child could offer direction. Thus the naked male scrambles to his feet, his many chain links clattering. Kendra continuously raises her arm until her hand is well over her head. The face follows to point upwards, the man rising to his toes. There comes a stifled yelp. She laughs, the tubing inserted well into his skull and pressuring thousands of nerves.

Kendra holds steady, keeping the form on his toes as she inspects.

Wrists cuffed and secured behind his back with a slim but formidable chain. Ankles cuffed as well with a connecting hobbling chain. A heavy leather strap encircling the base of his neck and mouth to hold in place a gag. She assumes it is the cruelest of ball gags, the form not even attempting a word of plea or protest. But offering the most critical feeling of bondage and torment... the ponderous testicle clamp flopping about between the thighs.

"It?s been reported that you bit. That will not happen again. Yet, I cannot have you gagged. You?ll need to be watered often... and you?ll soon be gasping for breath. So I will start by filing your teeth. You?ll not need them for the gruel. And I prefer softness there in my men."

Kendra laughs boisterously as her free hand reaches and pinches a nipple. There comes more sound... a stifled squeal. Yes, she establishes her control quickly. And the dental work will manifest it convincingly as well.

"Be a good boy for me and I?ll remove the testicle clamp. You heard the Princess. She wants you to remain intact... for now. And the clamp can slowly emasculate."

******************************************************************************

A geological anomaly in the arid equatorial land of the Kingdom, the water hole is really nothing more then a depression in the earth?s surface where rainwater, what little there is, collects during the very few cloudy days of winter. It quickly dissipates, both evaporation and seepage. But hundreds of years before, astute nomads knew that in digging, there could be found the remnants of nature?s precious offering.

The King, deceased grandfather of the Princess, claimed the most valuable resource as property of the monarchy. A deeper more elaborate opening was dug. A pipe system installed. Once water is pumped from the hole up to the crest hundreds of yards to the north, the recovered liquid, as valuable as gold, flows many miles by gravity to the vast royal palace.

The Princess will daily bathe, basking in the knowledge that each cleansing and soothing droplet was laboriously extracted from the depths through the sweat, toil and endless suffering of her former lover. Having observed Kendra?s talents, the torture of convicts proving to be most entertaining, she will rest assured that appropriate vengeance will be slaked.

The man sits. But for being the object of Kendra?s labors, he would otherwise marvel in watching the powerful arms and firm hands convey the heavy blacksmith tools as if such were mere trinkets. Bellows bring glowing heat to a coking oven. Thick strips of iron smolder. Kendra mechanically works.

She is naked from the breast bone downwards. A tight leather halter serves to protect her mammoth mammaries from the sparks of the stove. Otherwise, with the heat of the desert augmented by smoldering coke, she prefers to work sans clothing.

Yes, normally a man would marvel at the display of feminine power and pulchritude. For while the Queen?s torturess is not a raving beauty, there is a certain handsomeness which attracts.

Kendra works many pounds of black iron, as the Princess demands. Yes, the institutional shackles of the Kingdom are found to be secure but otherwise inadequate. Shiny steel. Strong but light. And removable! Such will not do. Permanence is best... the psychological burden as meaningful as the many pounds.

Whereas the naked male should celebrate the hours at rest, the trepidation brings unease. With arms and legs projecting straight out before him, he is pilloried. A pair of large conjoining planks entrap his wrists, the narrow openings making it impossible to move. Beneath, a second pair of planks similarly entrap his ankles. Kendra has graciously offered a stool to sit upon. Thus he is reasonably comfortable... physically. But thoughts of the pain and horror of Kendra?s gruff dental work bring shivers of fear.

A tongue thrusts forth. It smooths over incisors and bicuspids filed to nothingness. The appendage dispels disbelief. Yes! He has been dentally altered. There is no enamel remaining. As the imposing woman promised, he will bite no more!

Kendra notes the oral self examination and laughs.

"No my pet. You?ll not bite."

Kendra steps forth, her hand gripping tongs, within its teeth a strip of glowing iron. With the mass of the oven no longer blocking the view of her feminine charms, the male eye understandably gawks. Between rippling, muscular thighs, there is shown the triangle of a well trimmed pubes, the chocolate brown entrance to her love sheath. The outer labia are well plumped, the slit yielding to the welcoming pink opening of her womanly portal. A meaty clitoral hood masks what is assumed to be a formidable bud. Kendra smiles in noting the roving eyes.

She steps to a nearby anvil. The eyes follow. A heavy hammer begins to rhythmically forge, the heated metal giving way to her will, just as have so many convicts.

"We will get to know each other very well. There is always a curious bond between the torturess and the tortured. You will come to admire and adore. Power has that effect on those without."

The strip of iron endures many blows but bends, just as her many charges. When finished Kendra cools the strip in a bucket and approaches, her prisoner... her pet... glaring at each step.

"Yes, you will come to develop a humble pride in yielding and serving me."

She stands at the pillory. It becomes apparent that she labors to forge a shackle for the right wrist. She apprizes her effort. With her proximity, the warmth of her massive muscling can be felt, despite the desert heat.

She peers over the thick planks and looks down at her sitting charge. When her eyes move to the male organs she smiles. She notes that her pet is stiffening.

"You are terrified, yet aroused. I know males like you. Ostensibly they exude strength and confidence, but within there is weakness and a need to serve."

Kendra moves to press her nakedness against the planks. She cleverly aligns her pubes with the entrapped right hand, then leans. An index finger points then presses against the form?s lips, pushing aside the rubber nostril tube. She pushes and the partially edentulous mouth gives way. There comes a sardonic laugh as the finger glides inwards with ease, all front teeth, upper and lower, ground to the gums.

"Go ahead and bite, my friend. It thrills me to think what pleasant havoc your mouth will bring to my clitoris now. Ha, ha. ha."

As contrived, the fingers of the secured right hand explore the fleshy mons, Kendra knowing that the male libido is not to be suppressed. Through the fear, the male psyche cannot be denied the teasing offer of feminine charms.

"Yes, you may touch. And you will do more than touch. So many have licked and sucked there, beseeching for mercy with offerings of oral pleasure. And yes... I accept it... but I offer no mercy. That brings them to lick and suck more arduously the next time... and the next... and the next."

Kendra?s thumb pushes past the lips, joining the index finger in stuffing the male?s mouth. Then the digits gruffly close to capture the tongue, squeezing and pulling. The wet pink is tugged into the sunlight, Kendra laughing to the sound of gagging.

"Oh yes my pet. Long and supple. But I can make it longer... just a little snip to the sublingual frenulum... and I will make it stronger.... some exercises akin to milking a cow?s udder. This will become your only sex organ. Actually it will become my sex organ."

There is raucous laughter as the thumb and index finger release and withdraw. Kendra steps back gazing with the pride of ownership as the tongue slithers past defenseless lips. The male fingers slip out of her sheath, coated with feminine essence and glistening in the desert sun.

"You will enjoy my taste. Many have. For so many of the condemned, my love nest has been their last meal."

Began a blog, leaving behind the few who don't have one.

http://chrisbellows.blogspot.com
'Male Subjugation' a short story at 17,000 words, is available at www.lulu.com/content/4286971 . I have published it as a 'teaser'. $1.25 in ebook format.

 I am approaching 2,000,000 words of published erotica.
 
Stop me before I write again! 
Book Number 21 published... by me. 'Billie and Mary, a Love Story'. Femdom pony play. Available from Lulu at www.lulu.com/content/314775  
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