A Woman's Servant 2

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Suspension

Considering Christy has had some four weeks of relative vanilla living, ear studs and teeth bracelet notwithstanding, she took well to a good f*****g. She timed well the rhythm of her anus, pressing open upon my thrusts then squeezing with each withdrawal to add to the delight, the driver end more forcefully kneading my urethral sponge.

Meanwhile she managed to stay relatively flaccid, her p***s effectively encased in barbed wire, though certain grimaces suggested the denied phallus was at times challenged.

Mentally neutered... at my behest. The thought thrills.

“Good girl, Christy. Go put on your harness. I want you hanging for the night.”

I orgasmed three times. Sitting beneath proved to be much less physically demanding, Christy’s leg muscles quite strained as she pumped up and down while I only had to gyrate my hips. Still I am worn from the multiple climaxes and only arise when Christy returns donning the harness, the clever set of padded straps encircling her waist, crisscrossing her back and torso and slipping between her thighs.

“A treat for your return, Christy. You’ll sleep in here tonight.”

Normally Christy sleeps tethered to the floor in the spare bedroom, held immobile and hooded. So as I push a chair under the ceiling hook, Christy gushes with my generous gesture of welcome back.

“No hood? Please.”

I smile. Christy likes looking at me and indeed I remain denuded, her eyes glued to my breasts.

“For a while... if you’re a good girl.”

I clip Christy’s wrist cuffs to the waist belt, step up on the chair to attach the ceiling chain, then dismount.

“Up,” I command, patting where I just stood.

Christy reluctantly steps up, knowing that her vestigial male psyche will be put to the test. In suspending the male, stress on the spinal cord promotes erection, that which my steel trinkets deny. Thus, though surprisingly comfortable, the harness well designed, suspension brings the need for concentration, once again the need to contest the male urge to harden and to instead remain flaccid.

I connect the chain to the large ring at the nape of the neck then slowly push away the chair. This leaves Christy dangling in the room air, and I am pleasantly surprised to find I have judged well. Her head is at the height of my shoulders, my breasts well within range of a tongue I have had altered, strengthened and stretched.

So when I step close, without hesitation that long pink wet appendage brazenly thrusts forth and licks my right n****e.

“Naughty girl, Christy, you should ask,” I admonish mildly.

But I do not withdraw and let her lick more, reaching under and in turn toying with her n*****s. Such remain inflamed and my touch serves to extinguish the remaining fire of my itching lotion just as I did with her rectum.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” a humble Christy so tenderly offers.

Quite the poignant scene. But more importantly I am transforming, in a way deleting the p***s as an erogenous zone, to be replaced by the anus and these once male nipples... now appearing to be atop prepubescent breasts. Easy to do with the castrated male, I see it daily at the Institute.

I deem the moments of suckling to be welcome enough and step away, Christy helpless to deter the end of her treat.

“Dr. Powers says you’ve been missed at the club. I told him you’d resume your duties on Thursday,” my words offered as I retrieve a strap for the ankles.

This immediately changes the mood. Christy’s homophobia remains despite living as a naked servant with me and forced to confront her academic pursuits dressed as a girl. She objects.

“I’d rather not, Ma’am.”

I attach the strap to the Posey ankle cuffs then lift and hook it to the chain, bringing my naked hanging girl to a horizontal position... that in which she can sleep. In thought, I do not respond to Christy’s objection. Though Dr. Powers has emailed me photos of Christy at the club, serving in quirky costumery, I have no detailed knowledge of what is demanded of her to earn the enormous emoluments that arrive in the mail every Monday thereafter.

“I think I will offer Dr. Powers some of my lotion for your rectum and n*****s. That may change your desire,” my subtle threat offered as I playfully tap her nose.

“No, please don’t do that,” Christy beseeches.

“I’ll give it some thought. The itch brings attention to where I want you to feel a need. You were certainly eager to greet Mr. Feeldoe tonight, weren’t you? You wanted a good f*****g, naughty girl.”

Christy blushes divinely, though chagrined, apparently pleased to be my little harlot.

I turn down the lights, leaving on a dim lamp in the corner. Then I turn up the heat so I can sleep without covers. Yes, Christy will remain unhooded, free to adore my nakedness for the remainder of the night.

“Sleep well,” my words offered as I teasingly caress the exposed portion of her scrotum.