Taming the Virile Male

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The simplest events can serve to pleasantly break the monotony of being held prisoner. My daydream led to slumber. Slumber has brought the morning. Though in my windowless cell the precise time of day is unknown, I always think of myself as awakening with the rise of the unseen sun and that brings another interval of rare personal contact... my feeding.

My cell door yields so easily to visitors that it seems comically ironic to think of myself as incarcerated. A tiny feminine hand pulls on a vertical bar and the resulting squeaks announce the arrival of breakfast... or should I term it lunch... or dinner.

There is only one meal per day and it seems to be served sporadically... the scheduling I am sure deliberately intended to demonstrate authority and control, or my lack thereof.

“Hello, Captain.”

The young beaming face seems to so brighten the semi-darkness. Then a pretty and petite hand flips a switch and powerful lights complete the lumination of my quarters. My chain restrains me from regulating the light myself, though the switch is within easy reach of any visitor.

“Your chart suggests you had a very strong orgasm for Miss Betty. Very good. She wrote that your p***s stayed firm and erect for her and you came on command. Very obedient.”

Her visits always include such embarrassing aphorisms. Verbally complimenting my virility but always referencing its ultimate subservience to the controlling hand of Miss Betty.

“Your diet seems to suit you.”

In her hands she carries the daily ration. A bowl filled with brown porridge, which, despite its tastelessness, hunger forces me to relish. No one will tell me what’s in it. But after many weeks of partaking, it has not yet killed me.

She places the offering on the only relevant furniture, the table where I sit to be m*********d. I await her instructions knowing that, though my stomach growls with its need, nothing will be served until she is satisfied with my demeanor and physical positioning. With every visit she alters her instructions... sometimes having me squat... sometimes sitting on the table... sometimes lying supine. With this feeding she wants me kneeling and with various snaps of her fingers and gestures of her hands I humbly position myself before her. For a mere girl not yet reaching her twenty first birthday, she is bold and authoritative. Behind the beautiful soft face is a termagant... a demanding woman. Just as with Miss Betty who so pleasantly withholds my climactic release and as with all the cattle prod wielding guards, Miss Ann suffers no nonsense.

I would so much like to summon the fortitude to resist... to protest... to laugh in her pretty face and proclaim myself a free man. Free of the mental enslavement and provocative grip of the feminine hand.

But alas, hunger proposes compliance.

Thus I kneel. And despite my recent climactic release under Miss Betty’s knowing hand, when the soft and clean uniform of Miss Ann brushes against my manhood, it feels sensuous. For some reason being displayed naked and bound before such a young and pretty girl serves to arouse. And as the small hand reaches into the bowl for the first spoonful of welcomed gruel, my p***s stirs.

Despite her youthfulness, Miss Ann seems very well aware of the effect of her presence, her authoritative comportment, and the soft cotton of her skirt wafting over my genitals.

“Miss Betty believes you are ready for the next step,” my provider of all sustenance suggests.

“Look at me when I speak.”

Her tone changes to a sharp command as my eyes wander to follow her hand into the bowl... hunger forcing the eager anticipation of food. With her admonishment I instantly divert attention back to her angelic face... so young... so sweet... yet so diabolical.

It is no secret that Miss Ann is in training. That someday it will be she m**********g the prisoners or applying the cattle prod to the testicles of recalcitrant males. Meanwhile in making the captured beast beg for unpretentious slop, her power is manifesting nicely. I am compliant to a slip of a girl whose lithe form suggests that her womanhood is still blossoming.

“You’ll find yourself becoming more and more eager for my visits,” her melodic voice softens to suggest. “And soon the Princess will inspect.”

The spoon finally nears my lips and I crane my neck to gobble. Miss Ann smiles but seems disappointed that I so aptly gather in the slop. It seems she would prefer to wave it about and watch my eager eyes covet the enigmatic mixture, as would a dog awaiting his master’s offering.

Meanwhile with her proximity, I can feel the warmth of her calf. I straighten more at the waist, ostensibly to receive another spoonful. But the tip of my p***s caresses her shin and I wonder if she hears the gentle rattle of my testicle chain.

“The Princess may bring her daughter. I understand she is nearing the age where a suitable plaything would amuse.”

The spoon returns to the bowl as I swallow. There is no need to chew and the slop slides down my throat to a greedy growling stomach. Meanwhile Miss Ann wordlessly pushes forward her right leg, acknowledging the proximity of my manhood and promoting its stiffness by offering the soft warmth of her flesh.

It feels good.

Between spoonfuls I pause to think how simple life has become. My situation is boring, somewhat frustrating, but not untenable. Though I am helpless to alter my existence, everything is provided. Yet there are times when I feel like a calf being fattened for slaughter. And there are thoughts of Mary... I so miss her. And her vision spurs me to push ever so slightly with my hips, pressing my upturned p***s, now erect, against Miss Ann’s leg.

In refilling the spoon, she pretends not to notice my furtive frottaging. But there is a mischievous smile suggesting that she greatly enjoys my male reaction to her proximity and control. So young, so authoritative.

Gone from our relationship is the memory of a very early encounter. I initially resisted her commands. A guard was called in and I will never forget Miss Ann’s laughter as the cattle prod was applied to my testicles. Though I cannot touch myself there, I was to discover that my most sensitive male anatomy is open at all times to both play and torment from any member of the staff... all female.

It was quite the learning experience. Miss Ann now finds that a very contrite and obedient prisoner awaits her arrival. And as I am fed like a child, her innate Dominance seems to flourish.

“Miss Beatrice will begin seeing you in a few days. She enjoys randy men and it seems you will provide a fitting welcome.”

Miss Ann slides her foot back and glances down. I follow her eyes. When she steps completely away, I am left kneeling, wrists and neck encased in the metal yoke of course, and with my p***s standing and pressing against the flatness of my belly.

“Yes, Miss Beatrice will find you quite amusing, Captain, though our cells here are full of vane and well endowed males. And not to worry, I am sure the Princess will not rob you of your pride. But it will soon be used for her amusement and that of others.”

Miss Ann reaches out with her free hand and for the first time ever touches my p***s. It is a light and teasing touch. She smiles, her boldness building with each visit. Then she pushes down with a single finger and pulls away. My rigid appendage snaps up and thumps my abdomen. She laughs heartily with the fleshy sound. Her girlish reaction irritates. And I can do nothing.

Instead, I open my mouth in anticipation of the next spoonful. My hunger lingers.

Miss Ann so enjoys the control that she dawdles more with each meal. She is my only source of sustenance and sometimes a feeding can take close to an hour.