A Woman's Servant 2

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Mr. Feeldoe Awaits

I turn the wheel and traverse the long drive, my house and shed, the final destination, illuminated by the car’s headlights.

Having stopped at the facility where Christy’s clothing and possessions from the first semester have been stored, I summarily tossed her luggage into the small compartment. All that Christy has will come from me. She has nothing other than that which I bestow. I am sure tucked away in some compartment of her suitcase is contraband of some nature. The remaining maleness, what little may be, probably packed things like pornographic magazines.

Christy remains pouting. I am sure my summary action disrupted some plans of the little minx. She also squirms, her somatic reaction to the itching solution ironically serving to bring more and more itch.

I pull up and stop the car.

“To the shed, strip and hang up your dress. Your shoes, collar and cuffs await.”

Other than her maid’s costume for special guests and occasions, Christy will never step foot in my house other than while naked... except for restraints, of course.

It’s a somewhat brisk January evening. The shed is unheated so I know she will be quick. And she fidgets delightfully, pink parts exposed now for nearly an hour to my devilish concoction.

“What’s the matter?” I inquire, seeing a tiny hand struggling with the door handle.

“I itch, Ma’am... it’s that stuff.”

“It awakens the nerves, don’t you think? All those little girl anatomical parts.”

“May I touch?”

“No. But if you’d like, Mr. Feeldoe is in need of attention.”

My words both thrill and bring concern. Christy has not been milked in four weeks, therapy offered bi weekly during the first semester. And her anus has become delightfully receptive to penetration under my tutelage. But kneading the prostate brings a need to harden. And Christy knows too well that will only happen most painfully with the teeth bracelet and steel points of intrigue in place.

“Will you let me get hard for you?”

“No. You’ll need to concentrate and stay flaccid... or endure the punishment of the points. I want you neutered, Christy... mentally emasculated. It empowers and brings me pleasure. And you want that... you want me to have pleasure. It is your role. It is best for you.”

Christy exits the car in thought. Yes, I want her quickly re-immersed... and that is best done with a thorough f*****g.

“I’ll be upstairs. You know where to find Mr. Feeldoe...”

I enter through the kitchen. Mr. Feeldoe lies in wait, the double dildo on the counter next to the refrigerator as always. With the cold, I know Christy will change quickly, no dawdling. Any time spent ameliorating the itching will be time fostering the discomfort of chilliness.

So I climb to my bedroom and remove my garb. With Christy’s p***s so strictly encapsulated, it’s amusing to have him constantly fighting tumescence. Still she likes looking at me, envious of my womanly charms, while she can only endeavor to subscribe to the sham of femininity.

Within minutes I hear the eager footsteps. Christy enters, Posey cuffs encircling wrists and ankles, high posture collar in place, special footwear for boys learning to be girls offering better mobility. In her mouth is the male end of the Feeldoe, the driver’s end, the female end, licked in lubrication.

She gawks, quivering with anticipation as I stand proximate, large breasts displayed, and check the many small padlocks which hold in place the restraints. All dutifully snapped closed, I pull her wrists behind her back and clip them together. Then I toy with n*****s I know to be burning with need. I hear a murmur of relief, see her eyes close.

“You’ve missed me?” I teasingly suggest.

Mouth stuffed, male end abrading her throat, she can only nod.

“Yes, girls like you need a good f*****g from time to time. Keeps them humble... and makes them eager for the next fucking.”

I press on Christy shoulders. She knows to kneel as I part my feet and relax the Kegel muscles. By now Christy knows the female anatomy, appropriately presenting the bulbous driver’s end, holding firmly while I mount and impale myself.

“Ahh,” letting an exaggerated sigh express the joy she’ll never have.

I step back, Christy knowing to let the male end slide from her mouth.

“I think I’ll take you sitting in the chair. Let you do the work.”

I so position myself and Christy eagerly turns her soft rounded buttocks to me, her burning rectum screaming for penetration. She lowers, I guide. Despite not being opened for many weeks, the tightness yields. Christy emits a plaintive ‘ahh’ of her own. When my arms enshroud the shoulders, my fingers toy with her inflamed n*****s. There comes a meek ‘thank you’. Then she begins to f**k herself, thighs moving, knees bending, while I absorb the physical pleasure of a jostling driver’s end and the psychological thrill of my empowerment.

Up, down, up, down, my right hand moves to the cockcage. Prostatic fluid drools in abundance, Christy’s deprived male gland well overdue for stimulation.

“You’ll sleep here tonight. I want you suspended, helplessly languishing from the ceiling hook. I need to feel my power. I’ve missed it.”